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HISTORICAL PLAYS 



OF 



COLONIAL DAYS 



HISTORICAL PLAYS 



OF 



COLONIAL DAYS 

FOR 

FIFTH YEAR PUPILS 



BY 

LOUISE E. TUCKER, A.M. 

PRINCIPAL OF PUBLIC SCHOOL 39B, MANHATTAN 
NEW YORK CITY 

AND 

ESTELLE L. RYAN, A.B. 

PUBLIC SCHOOL 109, MANHATTAN 
NEW YORK CITY 



LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 

FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK 

LONDON, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA 

1912 



r 



COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY 
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 



THE -PLIMPTON "PRESS 

[ W • D • O ] 
NORWQQD'MASS-U-S'A 



CLA330320 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE DEPARTURE— A Story of the Very Early Days of 

Harvard College 1 

WILLIAM PENN'S TREATY WITH THE INDIANS — 

A Story of the Quakers " 7 

CHERRY PIE — A Story of Maryland in the Raiding Time 10 

THE QUAKERS IN NEW ENGLAND— A Story of Early 

Salem in the days of Witchcraft 20 

GENTLEMEN OF VIRGINIA;- A Story of the First English 

Settlement in America 28 

MASSASOITS ILLNESS— A Story of how Captain Winslow 

Cooked some Chicken Broth without the Chicken ... 34 

LITTLE PILGRIMS — A Story of what they Saw in the Sea 

over the Side of the Good Ship Mayflower 39 

THE BEGINNING OF NEGRO SLAVERY — A Story of 
the First Landing of Slaves in Virginia by a Dutch 
Schooner 44 

THE STRATEGY OF DIRECTOR KIEFT-A Story of 
how the Money was Raised for the Building of the First 
Church in New Amsterdam 50 

AN ENCOUNTER IN THE FOREST — A Story of the 

Early Days in Massachusetts 56 

WAMPUM BELTS— A Story of Roger Williams in the 

Pequot War 60 

THE PILGRIMS IN HOLLAND — A Story of the Stay in 

Leyden 64 

POCAHONTAS IN LONDON — A Story of how the Lords 
and Ladies of the Court Treated Pocahontas as the Princess 

Daughter of the Emperor Powhatan 68 

v 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 
THE EASTER RABBIT — A Story of the Early Days of 

New York 75 

THE FIRST CROP OF APPLES -A Story of Providence in 

Colonial Days 83 

A SKIRMISH AT RENSSELAERSWIJCK — A Story of 

New York in Colonial Days 92 

HOW THE INDIANS PLANTED POWDER — A Story 

of Colonial Days in Massachusetts 101 

INDIAN GIFTS — A Story of Priscilla Alden's Cow . 106 

A CHRISTMAS TREE IN NEW ENGLAND - A Story 

of how the Puritans Kept Christmas 115 

ROBERT MORRIS AND THE RE VOLUTION — A Story 

of how the Revolution was Financed 122 

AT ANCHOR — A Story of how John Billington Set Fire to 

the Good Ship Mayflower 126 

A NARROW ESCAPE- A Story of John Smith and Poca- 
hontas 131 

STORMY TIMES — A Story of The Rebellion in Early New 

York 137 

THE FIRST WINTER — A Story of how Elder Brewster 
and Miles Standish Ministered to the Pilgrims in Sickness 
and in Hardship 143 

VIRGINIA CHILDREN OF LONG AGO — A Story of 

Plantation Days 148 

SATURDAY NIGHT IN NEW ENGLAND — A Story of 

Colonial Manners and Customs 154 



THE DEPARTURE 

A STORY OF THE VERY EARLY DAYS 
OF HARVARD COLLEGE 

CHARACTERS 

Mr. and Mrs. Stebbins . . colonists living in New 

York 
John Stebbins .... their son, preparing to attend 

Harvard College 
Alice Stebbins . their daughter, two years younger 

than John 
SCENE 

The living-room in the house of Mr. [Stebbins. 
Mrs. Stebbins carrying a lighted candle and 
Alice come downstairs and begin to prepare 
breakfast. Boxes and bundles and two guns are 
piled on the floor. 

Mrs. Stebbins. — We must be quiet, Alice, 
and not wake him before the time. 

Alice. — How quickly to-day has come! I 
wish he were not going to-day! 

Mrs. Stebbins. — Then you would be wish- 
ing the same thing to-morrow. 

Alice. — Mother, why do not girls go to 
college? I can read Latin as well as John. 



2 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF -COLONIAL DAYS 

Mrs. Stebbins. — What a thought, child! 
What would you do at college? 

Alice. — Oh, I was just wondering! I hope 
John will be happy at Harvard. 

Mrs. Stebbins. — Yes, I hope so — I pray 
so. How I wish I could make the journey with 
him and see him safe there. 

Alice. — I am sure that he will be happy in 
his new home. Harvard College must be a 
wonderful place. He will become so learned. 
John will be a great man in the colony, some 
day. Why, mother, you are crying! You 
must not be so unhappy because John is going. 

Mrs. Stebbins. — Nay, nay, 'tis the smoke 
from the fire that makes my eyes smart. Hark! 
(A clock in the shadow strikes four.) It is time 
to call them. Dry the dishes, Alice. I must go. 

(Mrs. Stebbins goes up the stairway) 

Alice (drying the dishes) . — Poor, poor 
mother. Oh, it will be a dreadful journey, 
filled with danger. (Clasping her hands.) Dear 
God, I pray thee let no savage Indians attack 
him. Two years are so long to wait! He will 
be a man full-grown when next we see him. 
Then two more years and he will come home 
to stay. 

Mrs. Stebbins (entering from the stairs). — 
Thy father is up and dressed and will be 



THE DEPARTURE 3 

down directly. This journey lies heavy on his 
mind. 

Alice. — Was John awake? 

Mrs. Stebbins. — No, he was sleeping as 
calmly as an angel. 

(Enter Mr. Stebbins) 

Alice (running to greet him). — Good morn- 
ing, father! 

Mr. Stebbins. — Good morning, daughter. 
Tell me, wife, where are John's boxes? 

Mrs. Stebbins. — Here they are. In this 
bag are his shoes, his muffler, his great coat 
and his winter cap. In this one are two suits 
of homespun, his three ruffled linen shirts, his 
stocks, and his beaver hat. Oh, I have counted 
each thing over and over, until I know that 
there is naught forgotten. And — and, hus- 
band, I have something to confess to thee — I 
meant to make mention of it yesterday, but I 
forgot — 

Mr. Stebbins. — Well? 

Mrs. Stebbins. — Why, 'tis this. I have 
given him thy silver shoe-buckles. Indeed, I 
do not wish to make the boy worldly, but he is 
going among strange people, and I would have 
him look well. 

Mr. Stebbins. — Oh, it matters not! I have 
not worn such finery for years past and the 



4 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

boy may need them. Tell me, hast thou two 
flasks of brandy ready for tuition? Yes? Well, 
I will place them here with the boxes and with 
our guns. We must forget nothing. Now I 
will go to look after the horses. (He takes up 
the bundles and boxes and guns; Alice helps him 
and he goes out.) 

Alice. — How long will father be gone, 
mother? 

Mrs. Stebbins. — A fortnight, I fear. He 
will go with John as far as Hartford. From 
there John will go on with the mail-carrier to 
Cambridge. Your father would like to go all 
the way, but he cannot afford it. 

(Enter John) 

John. — Good morning, Alice. I doubted 
if I would see you up so early. 

Alice. — Oh, John, how can you say such 
things! Are you quite ready? 

John. — Yes. I do not believe that I have 
forgotten anything. 

Mrs. Stebbins. — Alice, call your father to 
breakfast. (Alice goes out.) 

John. — Wliy, mother! White bread — 
such extravagance! 

Mrs. Stebbins. — Yes, I will confess to the 
extravagance. The last time that I baked a 
loaf was when the minister came to stop with 



THE DEPARTURE 5 

us. Some day, John, there may be white loaves 
baking for you in the village. 

John. — Perhaps so, mother. I will study 
faithfully and you must pray for me. 

(Enter Mr. Stebbins and Alice) 

Mr. Stebbins. — Well! All ready, son? 
John. — Yes, father, all ready to put on my 
hat. 

(Mr. Stebbins and John sit down; his wife and 
daughter wait on them) 

Mr. Stebbins. — Now, John, I shall give 
you your letters. Here is one to the president 
of the college telling him my wishes regarding 
you, and particularly asking him to direct you 
to some good family where you may board. 
Remember, if I can send for you at the end of 
the second year, I shall do so. But, should I 
not be able to do so, you must bear with the 
disappointment. 

Mrs. Stebbins. — You must never miss a 
mail, my son. The governor is thinking of 
establishing a bi-monthly carrier between here 
and Boston. 

I John. — Oh, I shall write home a journal, 
and I shall expect you to keep one for me, Alice. 

Mr. Stebbins. — Come, we had best be off. 
Where is the lunch, wife? I must tie it up 



6 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

with the other things. Good-bye, my daughter, 
God keep you. Good-bye, my dear, do not 
worry. May God bless and keep you. I'll 
wait for you outside, John. 

(Mr. Stebbins goes out) 

John. — Now, mother, you heard what 
father said. You must not worry; you know 
I am a man and I can take care of myself. 

Mrs. Stebbins. — Oh, my son, my son! 
Four years is such a long time! 

John. — Yes, mother, but think of all the 
wonderful things I'll have to tell you and Alice! 
Good-bye, good-bye! 

Alice. — Good-bye, John. You'll — you'll 
miss the patties I used to make you. 

John. — Oh, you silly girl, I'll miss every- 
thing you used to do. Oh, don't cry! Oh, 
mother, don't you cry! 

(The father's voice calling "John! John!' 1 
is heard) 

There is father calling me. Good-bye! Good- 
bye! 

(He hastily kisses them again and runs out, leav- 
ing them weeping in each other's arms) 



WILLIAM PENN'S TREATY 
WITH THE INDIANS 

A STORY OF THE QUAKERS 

CHARACTERS 

William Penn founder of Philadelphia 

Jonathan Underhill a Quaker 

Henry Underhill . . . son of Jonathan Underhill 

Thomas Smallwood a Quaker 

Martha Smallwood .... wife of Thomas Small- 
wood 

David Lathrop a Quaker 

Constance Lathrop . . daughter of David Lathrop 

Flying Arrow an Indian Chief 

Indians and Quakers 

SCENE 

All the Quakers are gathered together, a little way 
beyond the city of Philadelphia, for the purpose 
of forming a treaty with the Indians. The men 
carry guns. 

Penn. — It is time that our Indians arrived. 
Underhill. — The sun is not yet past the 

upper branches of the elm. 

Martha Smallwood (addressing Penn). — 

Art thou sure, friend, that these Indians will be 

peaceful? 



8 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Penn. — Aye, they are our friends, Martha. 
Put thy fears away. 

Constance. — Is it not true, father, that 
they scalp white men? 

David Lathrop. — Hush, daughter, we have 
naught to fear. (Constance goes over to Martha.) 

Constance. — I am affrighted. Truly, 
Martha, I am. 

Martha. — Nay, nay, there is naught to fear. 

Henry Underhill. — Think you they will 
come in war-paint? 

Martha. — Who knows? I have never seen 
many of them gathered together. 

(Penn steps forward) 

Penn. — Friends, there is nothing to fear. 
The Indians are our allies. Therefore, to show 
them that we trust them, I will ask each man to 
leave his gun yonder. 

(The men go, one by one, and leave their guns 
in a pile on the ground) 

They will come to us in a spirit of peace. Let us 
receive them gently and in all kindness. 

The Quakers. — Aye! Aye* 

Penn. — Here come the Indians. (The In- 
dians file in. Flying Arrow carries the pipe of 
peace.) Welcome, my brothers! 

Indians. — Welcome ! Welcome ! 

Penn. — My friends, we meet to-day on 



PENN'S TREATY WITH THE INDIANS 9 

the pathway of good faith and good will. No 
advantages will be taken on my side or on yours. 
The friendship between you and me I will not 
compare to a chain, for that the rain might rust, 
or the falling tree might break. We are the 
same as if one man's body were to be divided 
into two parts. We are all one flesh and one 
blood. We are brothers together and forever 
shall we dwell in peace. 

Flying Arrow. — My brother, you have 
spoken. You have said well. The red man is 
your friend. In famine and in plenty, when 
the grass grows green in springtime, when the 
snow falls in the winter, we will be ever ready 
to help and to aid our brothers. So long as the 
sun and the moon shall shine, we will live in 
love with William Penn and his children. 

Penn. — May the Good Father of us all 
bless our compact. 

Flying Arrow. — Now shall we smoke the 
Pipe of Peace. 

(The Indians and the Quakers form a circle on 
the ground and smoke the pipe of peace) 

Braves, night is coming. Build a great camp- 
fire, so that we and our new friends can sit 
around it and tell of the great deeds of the past 
and plan great deeds for the future. 



CHEERY PIE 

A STORY OF MARYLAND AND THE 
RAIDING TIME 

CHARACTERS 
William Clayborne . . 



. the raiders 
Captain Ingle j 

John Hanley a newly arrived settler 

Susan Hanley. . . .Mr. Hartley's twelve year old 

daughter 

Francis, her Brother a boy of eleven 

Madge Hanley a baby of five 

Mistress Deborah Beechmont . a girl of thirteen 

SCENE 

The living-room of John Hanley' 's house on the 
outskirts of the colony at St. Mary's, Maryland. 
Deborah Beechmont is sewing near the window. 
Enter Susan, with Madge clinging to her skirts, 
and holding in both hands a dish of cherries. 

Susan (peering down at Madge) . — Let go my 
dress, Madge, like a good little maid. 

Madge. — Will you not give me one, just one? 

Susan. — Nay, and you hold her so, sister 
cannot walk. There! Now thou art good. 



CHERRY PIE 11 

(Goes quickly to the table and puts down the dish.) 
See, I will give you the fattest cherry of all. 
Open thy mouth, Birdie! 

Deborah. — Give me one, too. Nay, I can- 
not take it. 'Twill mess my fingers. Put it in. 

Susan. — I am like Mistress Robin, feeding 
her fledglings. 

Deborah. — Oh, they are good. Give me 
another, Susan. 

Madge. — Yes, another for me, too. 

Susan (selecting two) . — Where think you 
will be my cherry pie?' Thou knowest, Deb, 
this pie is to be a special surprise for mother, 
to-night. These cherries are sun-cooked. It is 
that which makes them so good. I will give 
thee the recipe before thou goest home. 

(Enter Francis with an armful of wood) 

Francis. — Here's the wood, Sue, — and, 
oh, cherries! 

Susan. — Nay, not one ! Carry thy wood to 
the fire and put it all on. I am going to bake a 
pie. 

Francis. — Three cheers for a pie! Are you 
not glad, Debby, that father rode over for thee 
this morning? 

Susan. — Francis, you must mend your 
speech. Deborah is now a young lady and 
thou art too little to "thee" and "thou" and 



12 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF* COLONIAL DAYS 

to call her Debby. Mistress Deborah were 
better. 

Deborah (sitting very straight) . — You say 
right, Susan. I may, perchance, go to London 
in the summer. My mother said, only yester- 
day, that I must conduct myself as a gentle- 
woman. Not that I truly mind, Francis, but 
'twould sound better to use the Mistress now 
that I'm come to young womanhood. 

Francis. — Then you've arrived very sud- 
denly, and grown frightfully prim in a minute. 
Why 'tis only a fortnight to-day that we played 
hide and seek in the barn and I drew thee up 
and down on the grain-hook. 

Susan. — That is all very different now. 
Deborah is going to London. 

Francis. — Well, all I said was, I hoped she 
was glad of the pie, and I'll wager you she'll 
eat a good piece, for all that she is a Mistress. 

(He goes out, but runs back to shout) 

Oh, I say, Mistress Deb! When you are pre- 
sented to the king, make an extra courtesy 
for me. (Exit.) (Susan puts the pie in the oven.) 

Susan. — Dost truly think that thou wilt go? 

Deborah. — Yes, truly. 

Susan. — Wilt thou be presented at court? 

Deborah. — Who knows? I hope and pray 
so. 



CHERRY PIE 13 

Susan. — And, oh, thou wilt wear a train, 
Debby! Think of it! Come, let's play at 
court! For a train, we'll use my apron. 

Deborah. — Here is my needle and thread. 
Sew it on far down, so that it will sweep when 
I make my courtesy. 

Susan. — I shall be the king. You will be 
the queen, and Madge will be thy page. 

Madge (piping up) . — Madge is sleepy. 

Susan. — But Madge will play just this 
little while, and then she can go to sleep. 

Madge. — Just a little while and then I 
want a piece of pie. 

Deborah. — Sister will give thee thy pie if 
thou wilt hold the train nicely. 

Susan. — Turn round a bit, Debby. There, 
it will do! Now you will come from the other 
side of the room. I shall sit here. Madge, 
walk behind. Now pick up Debby's train. 
Not so high! Here! I will show thee. (Runs 
over.) Now come slowly across. (Goes back. 
Deborah comes very deliberately across the room 
and makes a courtesy.) 

Deborah. — Do I kiss your hand, Sue? 

Susan. — Yes, but do not clutch my fingers 
so. Take them lightly. (Deborah kisses the 
hand.) That was a very wet kiss, Debby. 

Deborah. — But you put your hand out 
before I was ready. 



14 HISTORICAL PLAYS OP COLONIAL DAYS 

Susan. — Well, once again. Now start back. 

Madge. — I'm sleepy. 

Susan. — Just a minute, Lady-bird! Hold 
the train nicely. Debby, don't look 'round to 
see where it is! Feel with your heel! 

Deborah. — If Madge would lift it just 

a Oh, mercy me. Oh, dear. (Gets tangled 

up and is forced to sit on the floor.) 

Susan. — Come, we'll try it over 

(Enter Francis followed by two men in riding 
clothes. Deborah tries to rise, but cannot) 

Francis. — Susan, here are two gentlemen 
to see father. 

Susan (casting distressed glances at Deborah 
and hesitating whether to shake hands with the 
gentlemen or to help Deborah to arise) . — Good- 
day, sirs. I am very sorry my father is not at 
home. 

Francis. — Allow me, Mistress Deborah! 
(He helps her to her feet. Deborah, humiliated 
and confused, retreats behind the settle, where 
she endeavors to rip off the apron. The two men 
stand near the door, apart from the others and 
talking.) 

Susan. — Will you not sit down? I am sorry 
my father is not here. 'Twas but an hour ago 
that he went to St. Mary's. Had you come 
that way, you would have met him on the road. 



CHERRY PIE 15 

Ingle. — Like enough! Like enough! And 
thy mother, is she at home? 

Susan. — Nay, she hath gone over to Mis- 
tress Fairfield's to see her new puppet, which, 
dressed in the very latest fashion, has just 
arrived from London. She will return shortly. 
Will you not wait? (Susan seats herself and 
Madge climbs into her lap.) 

Clayborne. — Nay, best hurry about our 
business, Ingle. 

(Deborah comes back and begins sewing) 

Ingle. — Nay, sit down. Sit down. Tis a 
pleasant kitchen. (He seats himself. Clayborne 
remains standing.) Tell me, small sir (to Fran- 
cis), art thou not afraid of being swallowed up 
by the Indians? 

Francis. — Certainly not! The Indians are our 
friends. We bought our land. We are no usurpers! 

Ingle (to Clayborne). — Hearest thou that, 
friend? (To Francis) The gentleman yonder 
would not agree with thee. 

Susan. — But 'tis a fact. They are our 
friends, our very true friends. 

Deborah (in a subdued tone of voice). — 
Susan, I-er-er — think that I smell the pie, 
Susan. 

Susan. — Oh, Debby, I had forgot. (Rushes 
to the fire.) 



16 HISTORICAL PLAYS OB COLONIAL DAYS 

Francis. — Thou hast a good nose, Mistress 
Deborah. (Deborah buries herself in her sewing.) 

Ingle (to Madge, who has been put from 
Susan's lap and left standing in the middle of the 
floor) . — Bless my heart, what a pretty girl ! 
Come hither, sweeting, and tell me thy name. 

Susan (over her shoulder) . — Go to the gentle- 
man; that's a good girl. 

Ingle (lifting her up). — Well now, what's 
thy name? 

Madge. — Madge. 

Ingle. — Madge what? 

Madge. — Margery Hanley — but Susan 
calls me Lady-bird and father calls me 
Dumpling. 

Ingle (laughing). — Which do you like best? 

Madge (laughing too). — I like Madge. 

Susan (spreading a cloth on the table). — Will 
you not have a piece of pie, sir? Cherry pie. 

Ingle. — Indeed, yes. It is not every day, 
little maid, that I am invited to cherry pie. 
Nor are you, friend. Come! 'Twill do no 
harm this once. Draw up thy chair, and be 
mannerly. 

Clayborne. — I tell thee, thou art a fool; 
we have no time to tarry. (He goes sullenly 
over to the table.) Nay, but a small piece, Mis- 
tress. I have no time for a larger, excellent 
though it may be. 



CHERRY PIE 17 

Ingle. — My friend hath an uneasy spirit — 
a prompting in his legs to be ever on the move. 
{Chuckles to himself.) 

Susan. — Indeed, sir, my father will be 
back before the afternoon is over, and my 
mother may come in at any moment now. 

Clayborne. — Come, I've done with this 
mummery. We want to be off, I tell you. 
Well, I'll save my hide while there is yet time. 
{He stalks out.) 

Ingle {rising) . — I needs must follow my 
friend. Good-day, good-day, and many thanks 
for thy cheer. 

{He goes out hurriedly) 

Francis. — Did you hear what he said, 
about saving his skin? 

Deborah {icily). — I think he was as rude as 
you will grow to be. 

Susan. — Oh, wasn't it dreadful? Poor you 
in the middle of the floor! I should think, 
Francis, you would have learned to knock on a 
door before you enter a room. 

Francis. — I should think you'd be old 
enough not to play! " Mistress" indeed! With 
an apron sewed to her petticoat! {The sound 
of a galloping horse is heard.) 

Susan. — Run, open the door, there is 
father. 



18 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF- COLONIAL DAYS 

(Mr. Hartley comes in) 

Mr. Hanley. — Tell me, children, is every- 
thing well? 

Susan (in surprise) . — Why, yes, father, 
everything 

Mr. Hanley. — Nay, I will see for myself. 
(Goes out, followed by Francis.) 

Deborah. — Why, what could be wrong, do 
you suppose? 

Susan. — Bless me, I can't tell. If only 
those two gentlemen had waited. Here is 
father arrived, and they have scarce gone. 

Deborah. — I liked the big man, didn't 
you? He seemed so full of laughter. 

Susan. — Why Deborah! They never even 
told their names. 

Madge. — He asked me my name. 

Susan. — Do you suppose it was my fault, 
Deborah? I should have asked them? 

Deborah. — Nay, they should have told you 
who they were. But what a shame you had to 
cut your pie before your mother saw it. 

Susan. — But how fortunate that you smelled 
it. It might now be a cinder. I had forgotten 
it completely. 

(Enter Mr. Hanley with Francis) 

Mr. Hanley. — Well, girls, you had a lucky 
escape — lucky, indeed, beyond measure. 



CHERRY PIE 19 

Francis (excitedly) . — That was Captain 
Clayborne, who is raiding the countryside. 
The people at St. Mary's warned father. 

Mr. Hanley. — Yes, I galloped back, for I 
was told that the buccaneers were here after my 
grain and cattle. But everything is safe and 
sound, as I left it. 

Susan. — Were those men buccaneers? Why, 
they ate my cherry pie! 

Mr. Hanley (laughing). — It must have 
been a good one — for I believe that it saved 
us. 

Madge (coming over and crawling up on her 
father). — He was a nice man, and I sat just 
like this and he pinched my cheek. 

Mr. Hanley. — It's a wonder that he didn't 
carry you off and make you into a dumpling. 
(Tosses her into the air.) 

Susan. — But to think that they ate my 
cherry pie! 



THE QUAKEKS IN NEW 
ENGLAND 

A STORY OF EARLY SALEM IN THE DAYS 
OF WITCHCRAFT 

CHARACTERS 

Mr. and Mrs. Mindborne .... devout Puritans 

Martha their little daughter 

Hannah an old servant 

Mercy a little Quaker girl 

Mr. and Mrs. Woodleton. .Mercy's father and 
mother (accused of dealing in witchcraft) 

SCENE 

Before Martha's house in Salem. Martha is 
teaching Hannah how to read. 

Martha. — Come now, Hannah! You must 
remember some of the letters! What is that 
letter called? 

Hannah. — That is A. 

Martha. — Yes, to be sure, and this letter? 

Hannah. — That's — M. 

Martha. — No, no, that's N! Now what is 
the next one? 



THE QUAKERS IN NEW ENGLAND 21 

Hannah. — Why, that's D. 

Martha. — Yes. Now what does that spell? 

Hannah. — A-n-d — 

Martha. — Oh, you must know. Why, 
everyone knows what that spells. 

Hannah. — I have forgot. 

Martha. — Why, it tells you itself. A-N-D 
spells and. It is just as plain as plain can be. 
It couldn't spell anything else. 

Hannah. — Oh, I shall never learn to read. 

Martha. — Then some day you will wake 
up and find yourself in the pillory — or you 
will be bound and placed outside our door there, 
and " scold" will be writ on a great sign and 
hung around your neck — and they will put a 
gag in your mouth. 

Hannah. — Oh, is that so? Then why, Mis- 
tress Martha, doth thy mother keep so bad a 
servant? Nay, if I be all these things already, 
I have no need to learn to read. 

Martha. — Nay, dear Hannah — I did not 
mean that — thou art not a scold — thou art 
our dear, good servant. But it is necessary 
for you to learn to read, for, if you cannot read, 
how can you know your catechism? If you do 
not know your catechism, how will you know 
what is right and what is wrong? You will 
not know the laws, and so you may break them 
■ — that is what I meant. 



22 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

(Enter Mercy) 

Mercy. — If you please, good morning. 

Martha. — Good morning. 

Hannah. — Why, lack-a-day, child, in what a 
state you are ! You are all draggled and torn and 
full of briers. Didst wash thy face this morning? 

Mercy. — No, not this morning. 

Hannah. — All good little girls wash their 
faces every morning. Art thou not a good 
little girl? 

Mercy. — I do not think that I am. They 
call me a daughter of Satan. 

Hannah. — A pretty state of affairs! And 
who be "they"? 

(Mercy begins to cry) 

Martha. — Oh! she is crying! (Martha goes 
to Mercy.) Please do not cry. What is your 
name? Mine is Martha. 

Mercy (looking up). — Mine is Mercy. 

Martha. — Oh, that is a pretty name. 

Hannah. — Well, Mercy, here come master 
and mistress. Tell thy story to them. 
(Mr. and Mrs. Mindborne come in and Martha 
runs to meet them) 

Martha. — Oh father! Oh mother! Here 
is a poor little girl crying! 

Hannah. — She says her name is Mercy 
and that she's called a daughter of Satan. 



THE QUAKERS IN NEW ENGLAND 23 

Mr. Mindborne. — Hush, be still. Come, 
wife, we'll have a look at the child. Why, I 
know her not. Dost thou? 

Mrs. Mindborne. — Nay, that I do not. 
What is thy name, dear? 

Martha. — Her name is Mercy, mother. 

Mr. Mindborne. — Daughter, hold thy peace! 

Mrs. Mindborne. — Mercy is a sweet name. 
Hast thou another? 

Mercy. — Woodleton — Mercy Woodleton is 
my full name. 

Mrs. Mindborne. — Come, we will sit down 
on this bench. Now tell me why thou wast 
crying, Mercy. 

Mercy. — Yesterday they took father and 
mother — and the house was locked. I had 
nowhere to go and I was so hungry. 

Mrs. Mindborne. — Go, Hannah! Bring 
something to eat. Go quickly. {Hannah goes out.) 

Mr. Mindborne. — Where did they take 
thy parents, child? 

Mercy. — To the court-house, sir, to the 
governor. They are to be put on trial for 
being Quakers. 

{Mr. and Mrs) Mindborne and Martha start 
away from Mercy) 

Mrs. Mindborne. — What, thou art a 
Quaker? 



24 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Mercy (tearfully). — Yes, if thou pleasest. 

Mr. Mindborne. — It is the very case I 
told you of, wife. It is to be tried this morn- 
ing. These Quakers have brought all manner 
of ills upon their neighbors. They have lamed 
Goodwife Martin, and because of them Goodman 
Todd lies ill of a fever. 

Mercy. — 'Tis not so. 'Tis a falsehood 
thou speakest. We have done naught and have 
harmed no one. I — I must be going. 

Mrs. Mindborne. — Nay, stay and sup a bit. 
Here comes something for you. 

Mercy. — I thank thee, but I must be going. 

(Enter Hannah with a tray) 

Martha (taking a cake from the tray). — Here, 
eat it. Oh, please eat. 

(Mercy eats ravenously) 

Mrs. Mindborne. — The child is hungry. 
Come back and eat. We will not molest thee, 
my dear. (The Mindbornes draw off to one 
side.) 

Mr. Mindborne. — We will be fined twenty 
shillings for this. 

Mrs. Mindborne. — What! For harboring 
one so young? 

Mr. Mindborne. — She is no less a Quaker. 

Martha. — She does not look wicked. 



THE QUAKERS IN NEW ENGLAND 25 

Hannah. — I hope you will not keep her, 
master. Such folk be dangerous. 

Mr. Mindborne. — She may stay for to- 
night at least. 

Hannah. — And we will all be dead in our 
beds, come morning. 

Mr. Mindborne. — That will do, Hannah. 
Remember, if she stays, she is my guest. 

Mrs. Mindborne {going to Mercy). — Come, 
go into the house and rest thee. Hannah will 
go with thee. 

Mercy. — Thank thee very much, madam, 
but I cannot. 

Martha. — Oh, look who comes! 

{Mr. and Mrs. Woodleton come in) 

Mercy. — Oh! Tis my mother! Oh, 
mother! Oh, father! {Friend Woodleton and 
his wife tenderly embrace their daughter.) Oh, 
father! Oh, mother! I have been so lone- 
some. I did pray God you would come back 
to me soon. 

Mr. Woodleton. — Poor little lamb ! Poor 
little lamb! 

Mrs. Woodleton. — Where didst thou pass 
the night, my child? 

Mercy. — In the woods. And I was so hun- 
gry! 

Mrs. Woodleton. — Oh, husband, dost thou 



26 HISTORICAL PLAYS OP COLONIAL DAYS 

hear? She hath been all night alone in the 
woods. 

Mr. Woodleton. — Aye, I hear. The hand 
of the Lord is heavy upon us. 

Mercy. — And this morning I was so hun- 
gry that I came in here. They said that you 
were wicked and then they offered me to eat. 
I would that I had refused, but I was so hungry. 

Mr. Woodleton (addressing Mr. Mindborne) . 
— Thou hast been kind to the little maid. I 
thank thee, sir. I would to Heaven thy neigh- 
bors were more in thy likeness. 

Mrs. Mindborne. — I am very glad, sir, for 
the child's sake, that you are free once more. 
Is there any refreshment I can offer you? 

Mr. Woodleton. — Nay, we must be on our 
way. This is our condition of freedom — that 
we leave the colony at once. We bid you good- 
day, folks. 

Martha. — Good-bye, Mercy — I do not 
believe you are wicked. And thou shalt have 
my new puppet. 

Mrs. Mindborne. — Here in this napkin I 
have tied up something good. You are very 
welcome to it. 

Mrs. Woodleton. — Oh, thou art kind, 
madam, so kind! 

Mercy. — Good-bye, Martha, good-bye. I 
will keep thy puppet until I am a great girl. 



THE QUAKERS IN NEW ENGLAND 27 

Martha. — Good-bye! Good-bye! 

Hannah. — Well, thank goodness, they are 
gone. When that woman looked at me, I could 
feel pins sticking into me. I assure you, ma'am, 
I could (twisting herself). 

Mrs. Mindborne. — Nay, they were gentle- 
looking folks. I cannot believe wicked of 
them. 

Mr. Mindborne. — Yet strange things have 
been seen to happen at their house. We can- 
not gainsay that. 

Martha. — Well, I liked them and I gave 
all my puppets to Mercy, every single one. 



GENTLEMEN OF VIRGINIA 

A STORY OF THE FIRST ENGLISH SETTLE- 
MENT IN AMERICA 

CHARACTERS 

George Percy . . . 

Gabriel Beadell . . . .gentlemen of the colony 
John Russell . . . ] 

Captain Archer . . . an enemy of John Smith and 

a mischief-maker in general 

SCENE 

The company has been brought by John Smith 
from the fort into the wilderness for the purpose 
of cutting down trees and making clapboards. 
When the curtain rises Percy is discovered fast 
asleep. From the thicket nearby comes the 
sound of chopping. 

{Enter Russell and Beadell) 

Russell. — Thy hands are as bad as mine. 
In sooth, and we used to think tennis playing a 
strenuous exercise! Look you, there's Percy 
fast asleep. He's been dead to the world this 
last hour. 



GENTLEMEN OF VIRGINIA 29 

Beadell. — Then let him be dead a little 
longer. God wot it's a weary world. I'll not 
wake him to its miseries. 

Russell. — 'Twould be mistaken kindness to 
allow some humming busy bee to find him. 
Thou knowest well John Smith is not to be 
trifled with. (He gets up and goes over to Percy.) 
Percy! What, George Percy! (As Percy 
wakes) What, man! think you, you are in 
Merry England, and have not to work for a 
living? 

Percy (stretching leisurely). — Sooth, I 
thought I was back at home, and at the play 
with Lord Hervy, and that suddenly, from the 
stage, an Indian made towards me. Then you 
clapped me on the shoulder and here I am i' 
faith, sir. 

Beadell. — 'Twere better to have dreamed 
that you were feasting at the Blue Pigeon, or 
at the inn of mine host at Temple Bar, say, off 
a joint of beef, washed down with a good sack 
posset. 

Captain Archer (parting the bushes at the 
back). — Who speaks of feasting? 

(The men turn, startled) 

Beadell. — Ah, captain, you have a way of 
stepping that savors more of moccasins than 
of honest English boots. 



30 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF- COLONIAL DAYS 

Percy. — I would the colonists went about 
a-tramping! I've such a horror of our creeping 
neighbors, I fain would walk abroad as children 
go up stairs, my head turned ever backward. 

Archer. — I crave your pardon, gentles, if 
I have offended; but again I make so bold to 
ask, who speaks of feasting? 

Beadell. — Like enough you would have us 
all strung up on charge of mutiny. No, we 
were not complaining, we are loyal subjects of 
the king, staunch supporters of the company, 
worthy followers of my lords of the High 
Council. 

Russell. — Yes, we be all that, Captain 
Archer, and, moreover, we be lovers of honesty 
and of plain dealing. We like not men who 
skulk abroad o' nights, bent on their own 
convenience. 

Archer. — Am I to take it, sir, that you 
reproach me with "skulking abroad o' nights" 
and "bent on their own convenience"? 

Russell. — Reproach were a mild term. An' 
you are particular in your words, condemn 
would suit you better. Have you forgotten 
last night so soon? (The captain scowls. 
Beadell and Percy prick up their ears.) Oh, 
then I'll refresh your memory and acquaint 
you with my little story. Know you last 
night, tormented by those stinging flies, I 



GENTLEMEN OF VIRGINIA 31 

lay until I could endure their stings no longer. 
So I stepped outside my cabin to drink at the 
spring over yonder. It was long past midnight, 
yet distinctly on the air came the sound of low 
murmured talking, and then the smell of smoke 
and the savor of good meat cooking. I tiptoed 
carefully over and found our good captain here 
was having a party at midnight. He and his 
friend were smoking and salting the remains 
of a deer to be put by for their further pleas- 
ure. Is that not so, Captain Archer? 

Archer. — You lie, John Russell. 

Russell. — There's a law against duelling 
at home, but none as yet in Virginia. 

Archer. — How can you prove that you 
yourself did not join us to smoke the deer and 
then to tell from a spirit of malice? Or might 
we not have been about the president's own 
business? 

Russell. — F faith, I'll ask him, if you like. 
But if you like better you may take him the 
deer to divide among the company. It would 
make much better fare than barley meal with 
water. 

Archer. — Sir, you shall not dictate. Re- 
member, you are not at court, sir, that 

Beadell. — By my conscience, gentlemen, 
you hear the worthy captain. We're not at 
court! I' faith, good captain, thou sayest right, 



32 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF. COLONIAL DAYS 

we are not. An' were we, I would contrive 
to steal me a dinner from the back window of 
the palace (bowing low). At half-past two I 
will meet you, on the second terrace, near the 
sun-dial, with a bottle of ale 'neath one arm 
and a pigeon pie 'neath the other, nay (looking 
half in earnest, half in jest toward the captain) 
let it be venison — a venison pasty well-browned. 
I remember 'twas always a favorite. 

(Exit, whistling, amid the laughter of all save 
Archer) 

Archer (turning on Russell) . — You hound ! 
He has gone to tell. I'll settle with you here- 
after (Rushes off after Beadell.) 

Percy. — You have gained an enemy, friend, 
and one who will stick like a plaster. 

Russell. — An enemy? Faith, that's some- 
thing. Tis the first thing I've gained in Vir- 
ginia, save the blisters on my hands and the 
hunger in my stomach. 

Percy. — Be like Gabriel Beadell and live 
on your imagination. A pigeon pie, by the 
Gods! How had he the heart to say it? 

Russell. — And thou hast the heart to re- 
peat it. Go to, man! Let's to work. 

(Enter Beadell) 

Beadell. — Gentlemen, your pardon for 
coming empty-handed, but I bring you good 



GENTLEMEN OF VIRGINIA 33 

news. I am the bearer of glad tidings. The 
Captain, in all haste, has dragged the deer to 
the council, and swears it is smoked and salted 
to be eaten this very hour. He bids all come 
and feast against to-morrow's hunger. 



MASSASOIT'S ILLNESS 

A STORY OF HOW CAPTAIN WIN SLOW COOKED 
SOME CHICKEN BROTH WITHOUT THE 
CHICKEN 

CHARACTERS 

Captain Winslow. . .sent by Governor* Bradford 

to visit Massasoit 

Hamden companion to Winslow 

Habbamock their Indian guide 

Massasoit . . the chief of the Indians, who is very ill 
Other Indians 

SCENE 

The Interior of Massasoit' s wigwam, late at night. 
Massasoit lies on a low couch. The medicine 
men of the tribe in a circle around him are 
charming away the evil spirits. They are cast- 
ing spells in order that Massasoit may go un- 
hindered on his journey to the spirit land. 

(The Indians chant) 

Neen womasee Sagimus, neen womasee Sagi- 
mus — Oh loving Sachem, oh loving Sachem. 
The wise men have interceded for thee. Into 
the arms of the Great Spirit wilt thou be gathered 
shortly. neen womasee Sagimus. 



MASSASOIT'S ILLNESS 35 

(They sit silent for a while, their heads bowed in 
their arms, then one by one they steal out. 
Enter Habbamock) 

Habbamock. — Father, the English are here. 
They are come to see you. 

Massasoit. — What men among the English? 

Habbamock. — Winslow, the great English- 
man, and one other. 

Massasoit. — Let them enter — I will see 
them. 

(Habbamock goes out. Enter Winslow and 
Hamden) 

Massasoit (stretching out his hand). — Art 
thou there? Is it thou, Winslow? 

Winslow. — Yes, father, it is I — Winslow. 

Massasoit. — Oh, Winslow, I shall never 
behold thee again! All is dark now before 
mine eyes. The Great Father is calling my 
spirit. 

Winslow. — Massasoit, the English are sor- 
rowful at the news of thy illness. The gov- 
ernor himself would come to see thee, but he 
cannot. In his place he sends me, with many 
messages and with herbs that may do you good. 
I will have made for thee a cooling draught which 
thou must drink. (Habbamock brings in the 
drink in a small stone vessel.) Here, drink, 
Massasoit. 



36 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF- COLONIAL DAYS 

(Winslow and Hamden raise him to a half -sitting 
position. Massasoit drinks. Then they lay 
him down again) 

Now, Massasoit, we will go for the night. If 
you should want us, send Habbamock to us. 
We sleep near you in his wigwam. 

Massasoit. — No, Winslow, do not leave me. 
Already I feel better. Thy coming has driven 
away the evil spirit that darkened mine eyes. 
Now do I begin to see. Abide here a little longer. 

Winslow. — Very well. But we have come 
a long journey and we must have sleep. We 
will lie down by the fire. 

(The two m,en and Habbamock roll in their blankets 
and lie down) 

Hamden. — Do you think he will grow better, 
Captain? 

Winslow. — Yes, with care he will grow 
stronger. These Indians have no notion of 
caring for the sick after the English fashion. 

Massasoit. — Winslow! Winslow! Art thou 
there? 

Winslow. — Yes, Massasoit! What would 
you? (He gets up and goes over to him.) 

Massasoit. — Winslow, make me some broth, 
such as thy brothers gave me at Plymouth. 

Winslow. — How named they thy broth, 
Massasoit? Canst thou remember? 



MASSASoIT'S ILLNESS 37 

Massasoit. — 'Twas at the great Feast of 
the Harvest that they gave me to drink of it. 
'Twas cooked with a chicken and tasted very 
good. Make me some now, I pray thee. 

Winslow. — Listen ! When the morning 
comes, my brother and I will go and shoot the 
wild fowl. Then canst thou have broth in plenty. 

Massasoit. — No, no, now! Winslow, now! 
Massasoit is hungry! 

Winslow. — Listen, father. There is no 
chicken. 

Massasoit. — What matters that to thee, 
Winslow? Make it without the chicken. 

Winslow. — Without the chicken ! Very 
well, Massasoit, rest easy. Thou shalt have it. 

(Winslow goes over and arouses Habbamock) 

Winslow. — Habbamock, go fetch me one of 
the women. Tell her to bring corn and the 
means of grinding it. (He goes out.) 

Hamden (coming forward). — What is this, 
Winslow? Must you turn cook? 

Winslow. — Aye, and make a broth of 
chicken — without the chicken. (Enter Habba- 
mock and a squaw with corn and grinding stones.) 
Thou hast corn? That is right. (To Habba- 
mock) Tell her to bruise the corn so as to 
take the flour from it and to set the grit, or 
broken corn, in a pipkin with water. Tell her 



38 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF. COLONIAL DAYS 

to do as I have said, and then to place the 
whole over the fire. (Habbamock explains aside 
to the squaw.) Hamden! What say you to a slice 
of sassafras root to give it a relish, and some 
young herbs? 

Hamden. — The very thing! The dawn is 
breaking. I will go out and gather some. 

Winslow. — Gather only the tenderest. 
Heaven prove that the whole may be a success. 

Hamden. — I will be speedy. 

Winslow. — Massasoit, thy broth is brewing. 
You will have it before the sun is up. 

Massasoit. — Now do I see that the English 
are my friends and that they love me. While I 
live, never shall I forget their kindness to me 
and always shall I be their friend. 



LITTLE PILGRIMS 

A STORY OF WHAT THEY SAW IN THE SEA 
OVER THE SIDE OF THE GOOD SHIP MAY- 
FLOWER 

CHARACTERS 
David 

Nancy . . little Puritans aboard the ship May- 
Timothy flower. 

John 

Captain Jones captain of the ship 

The Mate and other Sailors 

SCENE 

The deck of the Mayflower, on a bright, sunny 
afternoon. David, Timothy and Nancy are play- 
ing near the side of the ship. 

Nancy. — Oh, how evenly the ship rocks to- 
day. Like a cradle, down we go, down, down — 
now, up, up. Dost thou not love the sea, Timothy? 

Timothy. — Yes, I love it. I love to watch 
the water when the wind blows it to a white 
froth on top. 

David. — It is not the wind that makes that 
white foam. 

Nancy. — What makes it? The ship? 



40 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF' COLONIAL DAYS 

David. — No. The sea-horses. 

Timothy and Nancy. — Sea-horses! 

David. — Yes, they come swimming through, 
dozens and dozens of them! It is their crests 
that float on top and whiten the billows. 

Nancy. — Oh, Davie! Didst thou ever see 
one? A ^hole one, I mean. 

David. — No. The other evening I thought 
that I saw one, but it was just a wave from 
the ship. 

. Timothy. — I don't believe that anyone ever 
saw one. 

David. — Thou art mistaken. My brother, 
Ralph, saw one. He saw several, when he 
crossed from England to Holland. The Eng- 
lish Channel and the North Sea are full of them 
— even more than here. 

Timothy. — Do they ever come on land? 

Nancy. — Why, Timothy, they are sea-horses! 

David. — But they do come on land, Nancy, 
just for a wee while. I think they have wings 
and can fly along the shore. 

Nancy. — Oh, there is mother on deck! Oh, 
how glad I am to see her! She has been so ill. 
I must go to her. Call me, David, if you should 
see one. 

(She moves off) 

David. — I should hate being ill. I hate to 
stay below in that dark, ill-smelling cabin. 



LITTLE PILGRIMS 41 

Dost thou know, Timothy, I think we might 
have seen the horses during that storm, last 
week, had not Captain Jones closed the hatch- 
ways and kept us locked below. 

Timothy. — Hush! Look! Dost thou see it? 

David. — Where? Where? 

Timothy. — Oh, now it is gone. 

David. — Dost thou think it was one? 

Timothy. — I cannot be sure, but I think so. 

David. — Oh, why didst thou not tell me 
sooner! 

Timothy. — I did, but thou couldst not see 
where I meant for you to look. 

David. — Oh, here come Nancy and John! 
(He calls) Hurry! Hurry! We have great 
news for thee. (John and Nancy come in.) Oh, 
John! Oh, Nancy! We have seen a sea-horse. 
That is, Timothy saw it. When I looked, it 
was too late. 

Nancy. — Oh, why was not I here! Oh, 
Timothy, what did it look like? 

Timothy. — It had green eyes with red fires 
in them. I saw it, right over there. It had a 
long white mane that lashed the water, just as 
David said. 

David. — Did it have wings? 

Timothy. — I don't think they were wings, 
but it had something growing on its shoulders. 

Nancy. — Why fins, of course, like the fishes 



42 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

have. Why, those must be what sea-horses 
have, David — fins, not wings. 

Timothy. — Yes, fins. I am sure that is 
what they were, Nancy. 

John. — I never heard of sea-horses. 

David. — Well, if thou wilt watch out, may- 
hap thou wilt see one. Let us all look right 
down in the water. 

{They all stretch over the rail and look into 
the water) 

Timothy. — I do not believe there are any 
more. The sea has been growing quieter every 
moment. The horses must all have gone to the 
bottom. 

John. — Perhaps we can whistle them up 
again. {He whistles. All the boys whistle.) 

Timothy. — Here come Captain Jones and 
the mate. Shall we tell them? 

Nancy. — Oh, no. 

David. — They — they wouldn't understand. 

{Captain Jones and the mate come in) 

Captain Jones. — Here, my little folk, keep 
away from the side there! It is dangerous to 
hang over, in that fashion. A sudden roll of the 
ship and in you go, head foremost! Remember, 
keep away. {The captain and mate talk aside. 
Presently they begin to haul down the sails.) 



LITTLE PILGRIMS 43 

John. — Captain Jones, why do you take 
down the sails? 

Captain Jones. — There is no wind blowing 
to fill them, my small sir. We must go under 
bare poles, till a gale blows up. See, how 
smooth the sea is! (He and the mate walk away.) 

David. — Yes, see how smooth the sea is! 

Nancy. — It looks as if we could slide on it. 

David. — The captain thinks it is the wind 
that makes the sea white and billowy. But we 
know otherwise, do we not? 

The Children. — Oh, yes! Yes! 

Nancy. — We know it is the sea-horses. 

David. — But we must keep it as a great 
secret. 



THE BEGINNING OF NEGRO 
SLAVERY 

A STORY OF THE FIRST LANDING OF SLAVES 
IN VIRGINIA BY A DUTCH SCHOONER 

CHARACTERS 

John Whetenhall I , . . 

^ rr, colonists 

Philip Trendell J 

Simon a bound servant to Trendell 

Governor Yeardley . . .governor of the colony 

Settlers, negroes, etc. 

SCENE 

The river front at Jamestown. 

(Enter Whetenhall and Trendell) 

Whetenhall. — The governor speaks right 
about the matter. These fields be wasting away 
fof lack of sturdy men. 

Trendell. — I could double my year's crop, 
had I five more hearty fellows. Methinks I 
shall apply to the company to have that number 
bound out to me from England. 

Whetenhall. — Nay! I'd rather take the 
red men to till my lands. The company has 



BEGINNING OF NEGRO SLAVERY 45 

sent us one cargo of London paupers and jail- 
birds. We will not shortly look to them again. 

Trendell. — But the land is going to waste! 

Whetenhall. — Let me advise you! Take 
some man of the town. Induce him to give back 
his land to the company and to join you for his 
hire. 

Trendell. — What man, think you, will 
give up his fifty acres to tend to mine? Why, 
this is not England, man; this is Virginia, where 
we are all to make our fortunes, over night! 

Whetenhall. — Have you marked Silas 
Wright and Walter Green? Already are they 
discouraged, and making every shift to hie them 
back to London. 

Trendell. — If the land holds them not, 
neither can I. When a man both 

Whetenhall. — Look you, yonder — adown 
the river — across that clump of trees! 

Trendell. — A sail, by my faith! 

Whetenhall. — Three masts! What say 
you? A man of war? 

(Enter Simon, running, with two or three 
men panting at his heels) 

Simon (much out of breath and bursting with 
excitement) . — Masters ! Masters ! Have you 
seen her? A schooner! There, you can see 
her masts — coming up the river ! 



46 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF •COLONIAL DAYS 

Whetenhall. — A man of war? 

Simon. — Yea, with two guns mounted. 

First Man. — She hath put out a boat. 

Trendell. — What colors does she fly? 

Second Man. — None, your honor. Peter 
(pointing to the first man) and I saw her across 
the long meadow. Not a rag nor a ribbon flew 
at the mast-head. 

(Enter, some men and boys) 

First Boy. — A Dutch schooner! A Dutch 
schooner! 

Simon. — Hath she shown her colors? 

Whetenhall. — How knowest thou she is 
Dutch? 

Second Boy. — A flag at her mast-head, sir. 
The Dutch flag, my father said. The governor 
is coming and the gentlemen of his council, 
and a great crowd of other men. There is a 
boat coming up the river. It is sent out by 

Simon. — Thank Heaven this be no Spanish 
galoon! I'd like not to have my throat cut. 

Whetenhall. — There, she rounds the curve! 
A Dutch flag! Thou art right, boy. (A great 
cheer goes up from the assembled group.) 

(Enter the governor and a large crowd of 
colonists) 

Governor Yeardley (coining through the 
crowd, which falls back to make ivay) . — Is it the 



BEGINNING OF NEGRO SLAVERY 47 

Dutch flag? Ah, Trendell, tell me, is it a Dutch 
schooner? 

Trendell {talking with the governor, who, in 
his excitement, keeps taking a pinch of snuff). — 
There, you can see her plainly, your honor. 
Dutch, I take it, and lucky for us. 

The Governor. — Yes! Yes! Ah! Two 
boats. That is queer! 

Whetenhall. — Your excellency, I think 
they are bringing ashore a cargo of negroes. 

Trendell. — That is right. Look you, I 
count eleven in the first boat, and ten in the 
second. 

Yeardley. — A Dutch trader with slaves, I 
take it. (Another cheer from the colonists is 
answered by the men in the boats. The boats 
come to shore and the Dutch captain and his crew 
with the negroes are landed.) 

The Governor. — You are the captain, I 
take it? 

Captain. — Yes, your honor! I put into this 
port with the good ship Swallow. She lies out 
yonder in the river. 

(The colonists, eager to hear, press close. The 
negroes, passive and motionless, are stand- 
ing in a group) 

The Governor (indicating the blacks) . — So 
this is your cargo? 



48 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

The Captain. — You are right. I have 
twenty fine fellows here. (Turning to the negroes 
and motioning to a huge black) Come hither! So, 
stretch forth thy arm. (Turning to the governor) 
If you will but feel of it, your honor can see 
how hard the muscles are. They are like 
steel. And the back (turning the negro around), 
you will notice how broad. And remark his 
chest! 

(During this time, the number of colonists is in- 
creasing — the men pushing and crowding 
to get a nearer view of the blacks) 

The Governor. — But be these fellows 
docile? We like not savages in Virginia, cap- 
tain! 

The Captain. — Your excellency can see 
for himself. They will prove good men to work 
in your fields. I have been told the colony 
lacked such men. 

Whetenhall (turning to Trendell) . — Here 
is your chance, friend. Providence is making 
a speedy answer to your prayer. 

Trendell. — What is your price for that 
fellow (pointing to the large black), master 
captain? 

Simon. — Nay, sir! Stop a bit, before you 
buy a heathen like that. He can speak naught 
of a God-fearing tongue. 



BEGINNING OF NEGRO SLAVERY 49 

Captain. — Thou art too hasty, Old Man. 
Rhufas! 

(A slim black boy steps hesitatingly from the 
group) 

Captain. — Are you ready for work? 

Negro. — Yes, massa. 

Captain. — Tell this good fellow your name 
— your new name, mind you. 

Negro. — Ma name, Rhufas, massa. 

Trendell. — And your prices, Captain? 
What ask you for your stock? 

The Captain. — I will trade them for to- 
bacco, sir. 

Trendell (turning to the governor) . — What 
does your excellency say, if we go up to the 
hall, and talk this matter over? 

The Governor. — How long can you delay, 
captain? 

The Captain. — Until the tide in the 
morning. 

The Governor. — Then come with us, and 
see if we can drive a bargain. 

Captain (to the mate) . — Bring the negroes 
along. 

(Exeunt governor with captain; the rest follow) 



THE STRATEGY OF DIREC- 
TOR KIEFT 

A STORY OF HOW THE MONEY WAS RAISED 
FOR THE BUILDING OF THE FIRST CHURCH 
IN NEW AMSTERDAM 



CHARACTERS 

Domini Bogardus . . minister in New Amsterdam 

The Bride his daughter 

The Groom a merchant of New Amsterdam 

Director Kieft . . Governor of New Netherlands 
First Councillor 

Second Councillor officers on Kieft' s staff 

Third Councillor 

Other guests at the marriage 

SCENE 

The wedding breakfast under the trees in Domini' s 
garden. The company are making merry 
around the banquet table. 

First Guest. — Come, come, my fine bride- 
groom. A speech! A speech! 

Other Guests. — Yes, a speech! A speech! 
First Guest. — Why, look how he blushes! 



STRATEGY OF DIRECTOR KIEFT 51 

He is as bashful as the first day he was taken to 
school. 

Second Guest. — Must we appeal to the 
Governor? Must we use force? 

(The bride leans over and whispers to the groom) 
First Guest. — ■ Look you, Domini, your 
daughter is prompting him what to say. 

Domini Bogardus. — Aye! Now must he 
allow himself to be prompted for the rest of his 
life. 

(The groom, very much embarrassed, rises) 

The Groom. — Good friends, you have 
asked for a speech. Yet you know I am no 
fine speaker, but a plain man dealing in plain 
words and deeds. To-day, you must see for 
yourselves how happy, how joyful I am! The 
Lord hath blessed me with a woman whose good- 
ness and worth you all know. Her, as I vowed 
this morning, do I hope to cherish and love 
forever. And now, good friends, we must be 
going to our new home. We have some dis- 
tance to ride, so we bid you farewell. 

The Guests. — Here's luck to you, and all 
happiness. Farewell! Farewell! May God 
speed you! 

(The bride and bridegroom get up) 

. Domini Bogardus. — Farewell, my children, 
God be with vou. 



52 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

The Bride and Groom. — Good-bye, good 
friends, good-bye! 

The Guests. — Good-bye and good luck! 

(The bride and groom go out) 

Governor Kieft (drawing aside his three 
councillors). — My friends, I have a scheme to 
propose to our worthy burghers, here, in regard 
to the building of a church. When they are 
grown quite merry and light-hearted I will speak. 
You must uphold me. Do you understand? 

The Councillors. — Yes! Yes! 

First Councillor. — We will uphold you in 
everything. Be assured. 

Governor Kieft. — Come, then, let us sit 
down. 

(They go over to the table) 

Domini Bogardus. — Come, mein Herr 
Director, sit you down. Our supply of sack 
will not last forever. Good neighbor, send the 
jug to Director Kieft. I tell you it is not every 
day that a man gives so worthy a daughter to so 
worthy a husband. 

First Guest. — Faith, no. A fine speech 
that was — plain, very plain. I like that! No 
hedging or dodging or playing see-saw — yes, a 
fine man. 

Second Guest. — And a fine woman. You 
must not forget the woman, friend. Yes, 



STRATEGY OF DIRECTOR KIEFT 53 

thank you, neighbor, fill it up. {He drinks from 
his mug.) 

Third Guest. — Yes, she will make a good 
wife. She is an honest, thrifty girl, who can 
get more coats from a piece of homespun than 
any other lass that I know. 

Governor Kieft. — Yes. They will make 
good partners. That is a fine house that has 
been built for them. That is what we have 
need of in the colony — good houses to shelter 
our good people. 

The Guests. — Well spoken! Well spoken! 
You say right, governor. 

Governor Kieft. — The New Netherlands 
are growing. We are becoming prosperous. 

First Guest. — We are an enterprising 
colony. We will be a rich colony some day. 

FiRst Councillor. — We will be a mighty 
colony, for we have a mighty governor. 

The Guests. — Here is your health, Director 
Kieft. Three cheers for our Honorable Director ! 

Governor Kieft. — But, good people, there 
is one thing missing — one important thing that 
we lack. 

The Guests. — Name it — name it. 

Governor Kieft. — We are, as you all have 
acknowledged, an honorable, a growing, and a 
prosperous colony. We are God-fearing. We 
love and reverence our good domini 



54 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

The Guests. — Yes, yes, here's to the 
domini, God bless him! 

Governor Kieft. — And yet, friends, we have 
given our domini no church, no pulpit from 
whence to preach the word of God. Let us, 
this day, resolve to build a church. 

The Councillors. — Yes, yes, a church, by 
all means. 

Governor Kieft. — Here ! I will give towards 
it twenty gold pieces! 

First Councillor. — And I ten. 

Second Councillor. — And I twelve. 

Governor Kieft. — Domini, fetch me ink 
and paper. {Domini Bogardus goes out.) 

Third Councillor. — Oh, 'tis a grand 
idea. There is no other colony that has a 
church. 

First Guest. — We will not be backward. 
We will not be behind the times. I will give 
five guilders. 

Third Guest. — Here's to our new church. 
May it be the best of its kind. 

(Domini Bogardus comes in with pen and paper) 

Governor Kieft. — Here is the domini with 
pen and paper. Come write down your names 
and what you will subscribe. 

First Guest. — Let me put, my name. 

Second Guest. — And let me. 



STRATEGY OF DIRECTOR KIEFT 55 

Third Guest. — Here ! Here ! Give me 
the pen! 

{They push and shove in their eagerness 
to write their names) 

Governor Kieft (aside to the first councillor). 
— You see how the scheme works. I will have a 
pretty subscription. Each one who signs his 
name will pay the amount that he puts beside 
it. (Aloud) Thank you, my good people. I 
see that you are both generous and willing. 
May Heaven prosper the first church in our land ! 

Domini Bogardus. — May Heaven bless 
our wise and mighty director. 



AN ENCOUNTER IN THE 
FOREST 

A STORY OF THE EARLY DAYS IN 
MASSACHUSETTS 

CHARACTERS 

Samuel Fuller a colonist 

Edward Fuller his son, a boy of ten 

John Alden 7 . J 

TTT , T colonists 

William Mullins J 

Samoset an Indian 



SCENE 

A small forest clearing, where the men are cutting 

wood. 

Fuller. — It is growing too late for work. 
It is blind man's holiday and time to leave. 

Alden. — My back says it is high time. 

Fuller. — Mine has been crying out this 
half hour. Run, Edward, to the top of yonder 
rise and fetch my hat. Tis hanging on the 
tree under which we ate. 



ENCOUNTER IN THE FOREST 57 

(Edward goes out) 

(Calling after him) Be wary! I killed a snake 
there, this afternoon. 

Edward (from without) . — Yes, father! 

Mullins. — We had better roll the logs to- 
gether, against to-morrow's hauling. The road 
had best be mended. J Tis full of holes even 
now and the undergrowth is not all burned 
out. 

Fuller. — I shall see about the matter this 
very night. Some of the stronger boys shall be 
put to work to dig out the snags and fill the 
holes. 

(There is the sound of some one running headlong 
and tearing through the forest. There is a 
cry of, u Oh! ohl" The men seize their guns 
and peer into the growing dark) 

Fuller (starting forward). — Tis Edward! 
(Edward runs in) What made thee run? Didst 
thou see a snake? 

Edward (panting). — No! No! 

Alden. — Why art thou frightened, boy? 
Tell us what happened. 

Edward. — I got to the space we cleared. 
Just as I was reaching for your hat, some one 
spoke to me from the bushes. 



58 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF. COLONIAL DAYS 

Fuller. — 'Twas naught but the evening 
wind! Thy sister would be braver! I am 
grieved and surprised that thou art lacking in 
bravery. 

Edward. — Nay, father. 'Twas a voice. 
Some one moved in the bushes. 

Alden. — Why, I take it, 'twas the pixies. 

Edward. — Do they live here? 

Alden. — What, hast thou not heard of the 
pixies? 

Fuller. — Nay, he was reared in Holland, 
on solid Dutch cheese and buttermilk away 
from all such nonsense. Come help with these 
logs and then we must make for home. 

Edward. — Tell me about them! Did you 
ever see them? 

Alden. — Nay, I never saw them, but I 
know all about them. They are little folk, 
thou must know, and they may be seen only 
at night time. Then they dance and sing on 
the moors by the hundred and by the thousand. 
The traveller, journeying late, is sometimes 
caught and surrounded. Once, in the long ago, 
on a cloudy day in autumn, a yeoman started 
out to cross the moors of Devon to attend a 
wedding. It so happened that a pixie roamed 
abroad, although it was pure daylight. The 
pixie was very wroth, because she had been shut 
out from the darkness, so 



ENCOUNTER IN THE FOREST 59 

Edward. — Hark! Did you not hear some- 
thing? 

Fuller. — Nay! Nay! Tis the wind. A 
very grandame art thou, Alden, with thy old 
wife's tales. 

(An Indian steps quietly into the clearing. The 
men grasp their guns) 

Samoset. — Welcome, Englishmen! Wel- 
come! I am Samoset, the friend of white man. 
Samoset brings the message of peace. Samoset 
will not harm the white man. 

Fuller. — Welcome, friend! 

Samoset. — Shall the white man tell me 
welcome? 

Edward. — Welcome — friend. Was — was 
it you in the bush? 

Samoset. — Yes, Samoset awaited thy com- 
ing. Now lead me to your wigwams — to your 
big chief. I come from the father, Massasoit. 
There is love between us. Soon Massasoit 
will come to smoke the Pipe of Peace with you. 
• Fuller. — We are glad to receive you, and 
glad will our people also be. 



WAMPUM BELTS 

A STORY OF ROGER WILLIAMS IN THE 
PEQUOT WAR 

CHARACTERS * 

Roger Williams . . .who has bought the land for 
his colony from the Narragansett Indians 

Miantonomo Chief of the Narragansetts 

First Messenger 

Second Messenger [ Pequot Indians 

Third Messenger j 
Other Indians 

SCENE 

The interior of Miantonomo' s wigwam. The 
chief is sitting alone. 

{An Indian enters) 

Indian. — The Pequot belt-bearers have 
come, sachem. 

Miantonomo. — Let them come to me. 

{The Indian messengers come in) 

Miantonomo. — Speak — we will listen. 

First Messenger. — Brother, the Pequots 
have dug up the hatchet. They have painted 
their faces. The long feathers are in their hair. 



WAMPUM BELTS 61 

Soon, soon will they go upon the war-path. 
Within three suns when the old moon dies 
they will go. Here is a token of their going. 

(He hands a belt of wampum to Miantonomo) 

Second Messenger. — Brother, the Pequots 
make war against the white man. For many 
moons past the white man has been their enemy. 
Where now has the red man to plant his "corn? 
Where now can he hunt the deer? Ever must 
he build his wigwam towards the setting sun. 
Ever must he plant his corn towards the setting 
sun. Where are his mighty rivers? Where 
are his smiling valleys? Gone, gone, to the 
white man. There are the white man's corn- 
fields! There are the white man's wigwams. The 
forest swallows the red man. He walks no 
more in the land. Where now will he turn his 
steps? Now he will drive back the white man. 
He sends this as a token. 

(He hands him a belt of wampum) 

Third Messenger. — Brother, you, too, have 
suffered. You, too, have lost your cornfields. 
What love is there in your heart for your pale- 
faced neighbors? What kindness do you ex- 
pect, what benefits do you receive from the 
white chiefs? They will drive you, too, from 
the land, from the pleasant, smiling valleys. 



62 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF -COLONIAL DAYS 

Brother, will you take the hatchet and put 
aside the peace pipe? Will you go on the war- 
path to drive away the white man? Brother, 
give me a token! 

(Roger Williams, who has entered during the 
latter part of this speech, comes forward) 

. Roger Williams. — Miantonomo, let me 
answer. Let me speak to these Pequot envoys. 
(Miantonomo nods assent.) Here have I come 
through the storm, through the rain, through 
the wind, and through the lightning. I have 
come to plead with my friends that they shall 
close their ears to your evil words and sayings. 
Great sachem, have I not been thy friend? 
Am I not a pale-face? Narragansett chief, 
have I ever done aught to offend you? These 
Pequots speak untruths. Their tongues are 
false and lying. Have I not paid for my land? 
Have I not fairly bought it from you? Have I 
sought to drive you forth or have I ever harmed 
or molested you? I have given you to eat of 
my corn. I have opened to you my wigwam. 
You have come to me in trouble, in sorrow, 
and in sickness. I have healed your aches and 
your pains. I have comforted your sorrows. 
In all things have I been as a kindly and lov- 
ing brother. Is it not so? I ask you. Now 
will you join with these others to lay waste my 



WAMPUM BELTS 63 

wigwams and cornfields, to slay my sons and to 
wear their scalps at your belt? Is this the way 
you will repay my kindness, my loving care and 
my friendship? Answer me, Miantonomo. 
Nay, answer not in words — but according to 
thy token. 

Miantonomo. — Brothers, we have heard. 
In three suns, when the moon lies dying, you 
will go upon the war-path. You will un- 
cover the hatchet to bear it against the white 
man. You must not call on Miantonomo and 
his braves to bear the hatchet with you. (He 
pauses.) You must go alone. Miantonomo 
does not take the war-path against his friends. 
The white men are his friends. It is not the 
truth you have spoken. Go back to your chief 
and bear this as my token. (He breaks a 
hatchet in two and hands it to them.) 

(The Pequots go out) 

Roger Williams. — Miantonomo! May 
the Great Spirit bless you forever. This night 
you have done to my people a mighty service 
which shall not be forgotten. 



THE PILGRIMS IN 
HOLLAND 

A STORY OF THE STAY IN LEY DEN 

CHARACTERS 

Samuel Fuller an English exile 

Jane Fuller his wife 

Edward a boy of eleven, his son 

Matilda his small daughter of eight 

SCENE 

The little garden at the back of Samuel Fuller's 
house. Jane is sewing on a bench by the door. 
The children run in crying, ' ' Mutter! Mutter! ' ' 

Jane. — What, home at last? Come, tell 
me, was it a good day? 

Edward. — Yah! yah! 

Matilda. — Och, yah! Mutter, einen 

Jane (clapping her hands to her ears) . — Nay, 
nay, in English! How often must I tell you! 
Now speak out, Edward. Thou wert good and 
gave the dame no trouble? 

Edward. — Yes, I was good, mother, 
only 

Jane. — Only what? 



THE PILGRIMS IN HOLLAND 65 

(Matilda begins to giggle) 

Edward. — Well, Jacob Wisner pinched me, 
and I cried aloud, and then I had to wear the 
dunce cap, and stand in the corner. 

Jane. — Why, Edward! 

Edward. — You need not be ashamed. I 
waited after school and thrashed him well 
behind the schoolhouse. 

Jane (catching him to her) . — Oh, my little 
Englishman! My true little Englishman! 
And Matilda, wert thou no better than thy 
brother? 

Matilda. — Nay, I was good, only I could 
not do my sums. 

Jane. — Thou wilt do better to-morrow. 
Now run off and play, but speak no word of 
Dutch, remember! 

Matilda. — We will pay you a gulden for 
every word that we speak. 

Edward. —Ho! Ho! There! Thou hast 
spoken one already! 

Jane. — Run along! Run along! 

(The children run off and Samuel Fuller comes 
out from the house) 

Samuel. — Did I not hear the children? 
Jane. — Yea. Here are their books. I have 
just sent them off to play. 



66 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Samuel. — Happy little rogues, who know no 
discontent! 

Jane. — Oh! They will break my heart, 
Reared in this alien land, they will be Dutch! 
not English. 

Samuel. — Nay, they will be English. Our 
traditions will uphold them. It is true that we 
are not so many, but 

Jane. — Not many! Dear Lord, we are so 
few. There is John Carver next door, and 
Christopher Martin beyond and Edward Wins- 
low across the canal. Oh, I could name them 
all and so few, so pitifully few! The towns- 
folk could drown us all in any one of their 
ditches and the water would not rise an inch. 

(She laughs ruefully) 

Samuel. — These Dutch have been very 
kind, very kind and considerate. 

Jane. — Yes, therein lies the danger. Were 
they fiercely hated, our people would draw 
tight together and cherish our language and 
customs. Not a Dutch term would creep in, 
not a name nor an intonation! But daily we 
meet them as friends. We address them as 
Herr and Frau. And the children — they call 
me — mutter. 

(She begins to cry, but recovers herself) 



THE PILGRIMS IN HOLLAND 67 

Samuel. — Blessed are they who have suf- 
fered persecution for justice's sake. Dost thou 
not remember? Such was the text of the ser- 
mon preached the first Sunday we landed. 

Jane. — Yes, I remember. But how will 
it be with our children, and with their children 
and with their children's children? They will 
marry among the neighbors, and the generations, 
forgetful of us and our exile, will be Dutch. 

Samuel. — That is a far-away danger. Each 
day, the talk of America grows stronger. I, for 
one, am urging speedy measures for departure. 

Jane. — I would willingly go to-morrow, 
for there at least are rivers, and trees and moun- 
tains. Here, there is only an endless plain, 
relieved by ditches and windmills. Sometimes, 
I lie awake at night, and remember, when I 
was a little girl, how the wind rushed through 
the live oaks. I seem to hear the soft thud, 
thud of the cows as they came home down the 
lane from the meadow. 

Samuel. — Come, we will go in and have 
tea, and when I talk with Miles Standish to- 
night, may God prosper our plans for a speedy 
voyage to the new world. 

Jane. — Amen! 



POCAHONTAS IN LONDON 

A STORY OF HOW THE LORDS AND LADIES OF 
THE COURT TREATED POCAHONTAS AS A 
PRINCESS, DAUGHTER OF THE EMPEROR 
POWHATAN 

CHARACTERS 

Lady Delaware sponsor for Pocahontas 

Sir Charles Bimbley . . a fashionable gentleman 

of the court 
Lord Carew gentlemen interested 

Sir Maurice Berkeley J in America 
Pocahontas. . . .known to London society as the 

Lady Rebekah 
The Countess of Bedford . .a reigning beauty 
Lady Stuttingham . . but newly married and come 

to London 

SCENE 

An antechamber in the fashionable house of my 
Lord Delaware in London. 

{Enter Lord Carew and Sir Maurice) 

Lord Carew. — By my conscience, man, I 
have been hunting thee all night! A man with 
business at the back of his head never gets a 



POCAHONTAS IN LONDON 69 

chance to air it, with the ceaseless chatter, chat- 
ter of these feminine geese. 

Sir Maurice. — Nay, not so hard as that, 
my Lord ! There be a swan or two among their 
number. 

Lord Carew. — We'll let it go at that. F 
faith, I thought so, too, once. Now tell me — 
hast thou seen the King? 

Sir Maurice. — Nay, that I have not. Thou 
knowest how it is — " To-morrow, Sir Mau- 
rice! In a day, Sir Maurice! When I've seen 
the Chancellor, Sir Maurice! Never, Sir Mau- 
rice!" I tell you, my Lord, it's a hopeless task 
we're bent on. 

Lord Carew. — Nay, not so hopeless, 
neither. 'Tis a concession that will benefit 
not only both our companies, but the coffers 
of the King. When thou canst get his ear 

(Enter the Countess of Bedford and Lady Stut- 
tingham) 

Countess of Bedford. — Oh, pardon — a 
thousand pardons, my lords, if we intrude! We 
are but looking for the Lady Rebekah. Lady 
Delaware hath spirited her away. 

Lord Carew. — She is not here, madam. 

Sir Maurice. — Tell me, Countess — thou 
art a woman and should know — how doth she 
charm the men? 



70 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF. COLONIAL DAYS 

Countess of Bedford. — You can answer 
that question for yourself, sir! Yet, i' faith, she 
is no beauty. 

Sir Maurice. — Albeit she is the daughter 
of an Emperor! 

Lord Carew. — I've seen Emperors' daugh- 
ters before that were no better favored. 

Countess. — Ah! I see nature favors only 
a shepherdess or a milk-maid! 

Sir Maurice. — Nay, Countess! Tis not 
so bad as that. Where we find beauty, we wor- 
ship it. (Kisses the hand of the countess.) 

Lord Carew. — An ill-turned compliment! 
I'd not render him my hand on't. 

Lady Stuttingham. — And yet me- 
thinks 

Sir Maurice. — And yet Come, what 

think you, lady? 

Lady Stuttingham. — I was about to say 
the Lady Rebekah is not so ill-looking. She 
hath dark, serious eyes, and a stately bearing, 
albeit she is such a young thing. 

The Countess (mock serious). — Dark, 
serious eyes, and a stately manner! Ho! 
Ho! My lords, what say you? Shall I not 
draw a better picture and add (sweeping up 
and down the room) a royal chin, a clanking 
sword, and great renown, won in the war in 
Flanders! 



POCAHONTAS IN LONDON 71 

Lady Stuttingham. — Oh, hush! I prithee, 
hush! Here comes the Indian maiden. 

(Enter Pocahontas with Lady Delaware, followed 
by Sir Charles Bimbley. The gentlemen 
press forward to kiss Pocahontas's hand. The 
ladies make sweeping courtesies) 

Sir Maurice. — What, your ladyship, not 
dancing? 

Lady Delaware. — Nay, I have brought the 
child away. 'Twas too much light and noise 
and music. Sir Charles was all for teaching her 
the gavotte, far off in a corner. 

Sir Charles. — Here is the very place, 
Madam! Lady Rebekah, would you not like 
to dance? Come, learn and benefit your sis- 
ters. The pretty ladies are all forlorn; for you, 
not dancing, keep the gallants about you, and 
they cannot dance without them. What say 
you — have I leave to teach you? 

Pocahontas. — How should I say? (Turn- 
ing to Lady Delaware) Lady, what asks he of 
me? 

Lady Delaware. — Sir Charles wants to 
teach you to dance, child. (As Pocahontas looks 
puzzled and frowns) He wishes to teach you what 
they were doing in yonder. Didst thou never 
dance in thy forest home in Virginia? 

Pocahontas. — Ah, yes! Many, many were 



72 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF. COLONIAL DAYS 

our dances ! Yet they were not like these — 
not walking. 

Sir Charles. — Then come! We'll teach 
you how to tread a measure. 

(Sir Charles, holding Pocahontas's hand in his, 
walks to the middle of the room) 

Sir Charles. — Now to begin with, a courtesy 
— so ! Now you step to the right — I step to 
the left. Another courtesy — now swing back 
in place, and courtesy over again. Now place 
your foot across and point — in this wise — not 
so. You must sway a little more. 

Pocahontas. — Sway? Sway? 

Lady Delaware. — Enough, Sir Charles, 
enough! She cannot manage her tongue much 
less her heels. 

Lady Carew. — Thou art a rare lance, Sir 
Charles, with thy courtesy backward, and cour- 
tesy forward, and courtesy across. 'Tis nothing 
but dip, dip, like a ship at sea. Not so did they 
dance the gavotte in my day. Your hand, 
Lady Rebekah! 

Lady Delaware. — Oh, my Lord! I 

Lord Carew. — Nay, Madame, I'll not be 
gainsaid. 

(Enter John Smith) 

Pocahontas (running to Smith). — Oh, my 
father! My great, white father! 



POCAHONTAS IN LONDON 73 

Lord Carew. — The lady may not dance, 
but 'tis plain she can run. 

Smith. — Why, Lady Rebekah! Why, 
Madame, who would have thought to see you 
here, so English and so gorgeous! 

Pocahontas. — My white father has for- 
gotten. 

Smith. — Forgotten? 

Pocahontas. — I am not the Lady Rebekah, 
but thy daughter, Pocahontas. Father, call me 
daughter. 

Smith. — Daughter, I have not forgotten, 
but thy new name sits well upon thee. {Coming 
forward and bowing to the company) Oh, Lady 
Delaware, your pardon! This child claimed my 
attention, else I had not been remiss in paying 
my respects to you. 

Lady Delaware. — You are welcome, John 
Smith. 'Tis long since you favored us with a 
visit. 

Smith. — You must remember, lady, I am 
only lately a whole man again. Now I claim 
your leave to conduct this lady to her hus- 
band. 

Lady Delaware. — Yes, do so, for {turning 
to Pocahontas) — Sooth, I think thou art tired, 
sweet. We have wearied thee. 

Pocahontas. — Nay, Madam is good — All 
good. 



74 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF -COLONIAL DAYS 

Lady Delaware. — Go, pretty! Good 
night! I will see thee again on the morrow. 

(The lords and ladies bow low. Exit 
Pocahontas and John Smith) 

Lady Stuttingham. — How those eyes of 
hers look through and through whatever they 
fall upon. 

Lady Delaware. — She is but a child, a 
little lonesome child who is wearying for the 
forests of Virginia. Come, shall we join the 
dance? We'll have partners now, Sir Charles. 
What think you? 

Sir Charles. That you shall be mine. 
Your hand on't! 

(Exeunt all but Lord Carew and Sir Maurice) 

Lord Carew. — A plague on the dance ! 
Come, let's into the garden, and there let's talk 
in peace. 

(Exeunt) 



THE EASTER EABBIT 

A STORY OF THE EARLY DAYS 
OF NEW YORK 

CHARACTERS 

Rolaf a poor boy 

Rosa his small sister 

Granny their grandmother 

Jacob brother of Catrina 

Catrina sister of Jacob 

Heinrich the friend of Jacob and Catrina 

Annetje one of their playmates 

The mother and father of Jacob and Catrina 
Other boys and girls of the village 

SCENE I 

An open field. The children are dancing while 

Heinrich plays on a flute. They stamp at the 

end of the measure. 

The Children. — Play us another tune, 
another, yes, another. 

Heinrich. — Nay, I must rest a moment, I 
must get my breath. 



76 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF .COLONIAL DAYS 

The Children. — Yes! Yes! Let us all rest 
a moment — just for a moment. 

{They throw themselves upon the ground) 

(A voice calls from a distance) "Annetje! 
Annetje!" 

Annetje. — Come, come, little ones, we must 
go. There is mother calling. 

The Voice. — Annetje! 

Annetje. — Yes mother, I am coming! (An- 
netje runs off, with three of the smaller children 
following.) 

First Child. — I must go, too. It is getting 
late. 

Second Child. — Wait, wait, I will go with 
you. (Heinrich begins to play softly.) 

Jacob. — Look! here comes Rolaf and his 
baby sister. 

Catrina. — They are very poor. Are they 
not, Jacob? 

Jacob. — Yes, they live all alone with old 
granny. Mother says that old granny is much 
too old to take care of them. 

(Rolaf and Rosa come in) 

Catrina. — Good-day, Rolaf. How is thy 
small Rosa? 

Rolaf. — Good-day, everyone. Rosa is well, 



THE EASTER RABBIT 77 

thank you, Catrina. She heard the music and 
cried to come here. 

Catrina. — Didst thou cry to come here? 
Come, Rosa, come. Thou and I will dance 
together. Play, Heinrich! 

{Catrina whirls Rosa around. Rosa shouts with 
delight. The boys cry, "Great dancing, 
Catrina! Fine! Fine!") 

Rolaf. — Where are all the others, this 
afternoon? 

Jacob. — Oh, not many were here. They 
stayed at home to color Easter eggs. Thou 
surely hast not forgotten that to-morrow is 
Easter Sunday? 

Heinrich. — We colored our eggs this morn- 
ing. 

Catrina. — On some we made little pictures. 
Some we striped. Oh, they are lovely, 
Rolaf! 

Jacob. — We have a whole basket full! How 
many have you, Rolaf? 

Rolaf. — I have none. 

The Children. — None! 

Jacob. — But to-morrow is Easter Sunday! 

Rolaf. — Yes, I know; but granny has only 
one hen, and to-day she didn't lay a single egg, 
so we have none to color. Come, Rosa, we 
must go. 



78 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Rosa {crying). — I want to color Easter 
eggs. 

Rolaf. — Come, granny will wonder where 
we are. Good-bye! 

The Others. — Good-bye! Good-bye! 

Rosa. — I want to color Easter eggs! 

(She goes out crying, with Rolaf) 

Catrina. — Only think of not having colored 
eggs on Easter Sunday! How poor they must be! 

Heinrich. — The good Easter Rabbit brings 
no gifts to poor children, and that is strange, 
because they need them most. 

Jacob. — Thou art wrong, Heinrich! At 
Easter time, the rabbit visits each and every 
boy and girl who has been good. 

Heinrich. — Nay, it is not so. He will not 
visit Rolaf. Wait and see. 

Catrina. — Well, we will write a little letter 
to Mr. Rabbit and tell him to visit Rolaf. 

Jacob. — Yes! Yes! We will write it, to- 
night. 

Heinrich. — Be sure to put in my name. 

Jacob. — To be sure. We will run home now 
and write it. 

Jacob and Catrina. — Good-bye, Heinrich! 
We will not forget your name. 

Heinrich. — Good-bye. (They run off oppo- 
site sides of the stage.) 



THE EASTER RABBIT 79 

SCENE II 

The living-room in the home of Catrina and Jacob. 
Catrina stands by Jacob who sits at a table. 

Catrina. — Now we will write the letter. 
You write it, Jacob. 

Jacob. — I must sharpen this quill. (He 
sharpens the quill.) 

Catrina. — Yes. The schoolmaster always 
sharpens his quill before he writes. 

Jacob. — Now I shall begin. (He reads aloud 
as he writes slowly) 
"Dear Mr. Easter Rabbit: 

" Please do not forget to visit Rolaf and his 
sister. Catrina and I are very much afraid you 
will forget, because Heinrich says you never 
visit poor people." 

Catrina. — Oh, Jacob ! Heinrich would not 
like you to say that. He would not wish to be 
mentioned in that way! 

Jacob. — Well, I will write more. 
" Heinrich wishes very much that you should 
visit Rolaf. Please do not forget. 
"Yours with love, 

"Jacob" 

Now put your name. (Catrina writes her name.) 
(Their mother comes in) 



80 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF .COLONIAL DAYS 

The Mother. — Come, come, you must go 
to bed. 
The Children. — Yes, mother ! Yes, mother ! 

(Catrina runs and places the letter over the fire- 
place on the shelf) 

Jacob. — Do you think he will find it there? 

Catrina. — Oh, yes. He cannot fail to see 
it. 

Mother. — Now I am ready. Run along! 
Run along! (They go out.) 

(The father comes in. He goes over to the 
fire-place to warm his hands) 

The Father (espying the letter) . — Well ! 
Well! What have we here? (Reading) "Dear 
Mr. Easter Rabbit"— Hum! Hum! Hum! 
"Heinrich says you never visit poor people." 
Well! Well! " Please do not forget. Yours with 
love, Jacob and Catrina." (He laughs.) What 
rascals! (The mother enters.) 

The Father. — Come here, goodwife, and 
look at this. 

The Mother. — Why, it is a letter! (She 
reads.) Oh, are they not good, our children? Oh, 
are they not good? 

The Father. — Dost thou know this Rolaf? 

The Mother. — Yes! He and his small sister, 
Rosa, live with an old woman, very poor, who is, 



THE EASTER RABBIT 81 

I believe, their grandmother. They live down 
in the lane that runs from the Stadt House. 

The Father. — Well! Well! Master Rabbit 
will not have to go much out of his way. 

The Mother. — No, it is not very far and I 
will get a large basket all ready for him. 

The Father. — Do not make it too heavy. 
You know a rabbit cannot carry very much. 

(They go out laughing) 

SCENE III 

The doorstep of old granny's house. The door 
opens and Rolaf comes out. 

Rolaf. — Oh, I am too late! The sun is 
already high. I wonder if it really does dance 
when it rises Easter morning! Now I shall 
have to wait a whole year again, before I can 
find out. (He sees the basket.) Oh, look! a 
basket! What can be in it? Why, a letter — 
and colored eggs and sugar cookies! Oh, 
granny! granny! Come quick! 

(Granny comes out) 

Granny. — What is the trouble? How you 
cry out! 

Rolaf. — Oh, granny, look! Cookies and 
eggs and cakes and a letter which says, "With 
love from the Easter Rabbit." 



82 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Granny. — What a joyous Easter we will 
have! How happy little Rosa will be! (Rosa 
comes to the door.) 

Rolaf. — See, Rosa, dear little Rosa! Here 
are thy colored eggs! 

Rosa (laughing and clapping her hands). — 
Oh, pretty, pretty eggs. 

Rolaf. — And here come Jacob and Catrina 
and Heinrich! (The children come in.) Look! 
Look! * See what the Easter Rabbit has 
brought us! 

Rosa. — See the pretty eggs! 

Catrina. — Oh! oh! How glad I am! 

Jacob. — Oh, what a kind Easter Rabbit! 
Oh, see the cakes and cookies! 

Catrina. — Why, they are the same kind that 
he left at our house! 

Heinrich. — Oh, he is a kind rabbit, a very 
kind rabbit! (He takes out his flute and plays. 
The children join hands and dance in a circle. 
Old Granny keeps time by beating her stick.) 

(The children sing) 

" Happy, happy, happy are we, 
We are as happy, as happy can be." 



THE FIRST CROP OF 
APPLES 

A STORY OF PROVIDENCE IN 
COLONIAL DAYS 

CHARACTERS 

Margaret, Patience. 1 7 . JJ7 . , , l7 .„ 

A Little girls of the village 

Mr. Roger Williams . . the minister of Provi- 
dence 

Mr. Blackstone ... a solitary man living seven 
miles from Providence. He sometimes rides 
in on his tamed bull to preach for Roger Wil- 
liams 

Adam servant to Mr. Williams 

SCENE 

Mr. Blackstone is in the meadow before Mr. 

Williams's house. Mr. Williams 

comes out to greet him. 

Mr. Williams. — Good-day, friend, and wel- 
come ! From my window I saw you coming and 
right glad I am to greet you. 

Mr. Blackstone. — Thank you, Mr. Wil- 
liams. I have hitched my bull to yonder post. 



84 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF. COLONIAL DAYS 

It was a dusty ride and I would that you would 
send some one to water him. 

Mr. Williams. — Aye, that I will. Pray 
allow me to carry that sack for you. It looks 
heavy, my dear friend. 

Mr. Blackstone. — Nay, do not trouble 
yourself. But 'tis a cumbersome load and if 
you will allow me, I shall leave it here. Your 
man can bring it in! It hath the apples which 
I promised you, from the first crop from my new 
orchard. 

Mr. Williams. — You bring us a great treat, 
Mr. Blackstone. It is many years since I have 
tasted an apple, and some of the children here 
have never seen one. 'Twill be a rare pleasure 
for them. 

Mr. Blackstone. — They will be making 
cider in England these days. If my crop prove 
sufficiently large, we may have a little of that 
good drink here in the colony. 

Mr. Williams. — Then God grant you many 
good apples, for there are dry throats hereabouts. 
We hope to see to the planting of orchards here 
in Providence very shortly. Let us go in. I 
shall send a man to attend to your bull. (They 
go in.) 

(Enter Adam carrying a bucket of water) 

Adam. — So I am to water a bull, am I? 



THE FIRST CROP OF APPLES 85 

What right has any God-fearing man to ride a 
bull — flying in the face of Providence on a 
horned beast of burden. I was fined two shil- 
lings, a week ago come Wednesday, for wearing 
gold lace on my hat. Here's a man so slothful 
and stuffed with pride that he cannot walk on 
his own two feet but must come four-footed on 
a beast of burden. And here's the sack which 
he can't carry twenty yards. A proper kind of 
man he is to come preaching to us of a Sunday. 
I'd like to see him in the pillory, and his bull 
drawn and quartered and cut into prime ribs. 
(Goes out, after kicking the sack.) ) 

(Enter Anne, Patience, and Margaret) 

Anne. — Oh, I am all out of breath with 
running. Let us sit here. 

Patience. — I am so warm that I want a 
drink of water. 

Margaret. — Mr. Williams lives over yonder. 
He might allow us to drink from his well. 

Patience. — Oh, I would not be so bold as to 
ask him. 

Anne. — It would not be boldness, when we 
need it badly enough. 

Margaret. — But think, Anne! He may be 
preparing his sermon for to-morrow. 

Anne. — Then we can go around to the back 
of the house and get the water for ourselves. 



86 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF. COLONIAL DAYS 

Patience. — Oh, that would be dreadful! 

Margaret. — I should not dare. 

Anne. — Well, / shall dare. Will you come? 

Margaret and Patience. — Oh, no, no! 

Anne. — You can't be over-thirsty then. 
(She starts off, but spies the sack of apples.) 
Oh, look! Patience! Margaret! See what I 
have found! (She holds up an apple.) 

Margaret. — Why, what is it? 

Patience. — Oh, how lovely and smooth it 
is and so red! 

Margaret. — It looks like those big berries 
that the Indians call tomatoes. 

Anne. — Nonsense! 

Margaret. — Well, do you know what 
it is? 

Anne. — Yes! It is a pomegranate. 

Patience and Margaret. — A what? 

Anne. — A pomegranate! 

Margaret. — How do you know? 

Anne. — I've read of them. 

Margaret. — Are you very sure? 

Anne. — The prince always says, "Her mouth 
was a split pomegranate set with pearls." 

Patience. — Why, Anne Bradberry! What 
dost thou know of princes! 

Anne. — The prince in the book I mean. 
Didst thou never read the " Arabian Nights' 
Entertainments "? 



THE FIRST CROP OF APPLES 87 

Margaret and Patience. — Why, no! 

Margaret. — It sounds like something un- 
godly! 

Anne. — Oh, very well. Then you shall hear 
no more. 

Patience. — Nay! Margaret meant no harm. 
You must know, Anne, that all the village says 
thy father is — is too lenient with thee. 'Tis 
even thought Mr. Williams should remonstrate 
with him. 

Anne. — Oh, sayst thou so indeed? Well, 
'tis an untruth! I shall never speak to thee 
again. Then thou wilt know nothing more of 
my book or of pomegranates. (She starts to run 
away.) 

Margaret and Patience. — Oh, Anne! 
Anne dear, come back! We meant not to hurt 
thee! 'Tis an untruth! We know it. 

Anne. — You must beg my pardon. 

Margaret and Patience. — We ask you to 
pardon us, Anne. 

Anne. — Now, then, I will tell you the story. 
In the reign of the good Caliph Haroun al 
Raschid, there dwelt in Bagdad 

Margaret. — Haroun al Raschid? He 
doesn't come from the Bible, does he? 

Anne. — Hast thou no manners to interrupt 
my story! Of course, he doesn't come from 
the Bible — he was a sultan. 



88 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF. COLONIAL DAYS 

Margaret. — Anne, — do not be vexed, — 
but where is Bagdad? 

Patience. — Oh, Margaret, let's imagine it! 

Margaret. — How can you, if you do not 
know anything about it. 

Anne. — Well, I can't stop to tell of Bagdad. 
You must know, Margaret, it's the place where 
there are gold and pearls, and caliphs and mer- 
chants and genii and — and pomegranates. 

Margaret. — Oh! 

Anne. — Now I have to begin all over again. 
Please don't interrupt this time. In the reign 
of the good Caliph Haroun al Raschid, there 
dwelt in Bagdad a certain porter who was a man 
of great wit and humor. One day, as he waited 
at the market for employment, a very beautiful 
lady, heavily veiled, came up to him and said: 
" Porter, take up thy basket and follow me." 
The porter took up his basket, exclaiming, "Oh, 
happy day, oh, day of joy!" and placed it upon 
his head. Then he followed the lady. She 
led him first to the fruit market, where she 
purchased citrons, lemons, dates, figs, and pome- 
granates. Then she took him to a cake shop, 
where she purchased almond patties and small 
cakes, all of w T hich the porter placed in his 
basket. Now, when 

Margaret. — Oh, look! Here comes Mr. 
Williams! 



THE FIRST CROP OF APPLES 89 

Patience. — And Mr. Blackstone! 
Anne. — Oh, pshaw! Now I can't finish the 
story! 

Patience. — Oh, Anne! 

(Mr. Williams and Mr. Blackstone come in) 

Mr. Williams. — Good-day! good-day! 
What! Free on Saturday afternoon to make 
holiday? 

Patience. — We worked hard, sir, and fin- 
ished all our tasks by three o'clock. 

Mr. Williams. — You are good children, I 
know. 

Mr. Blackstone. — All work and no play 
makes Jill a dull girl. 

Mr. Williams. — Why! Here's your sack 
of apples, friend. It is borne in upon me that 
my servant is a rogue. 

Margaret. — Please, sir! Did you call these 
apples ? 

Mr. Blackstone. — Aye. These are apples, 
child, a good old English fruit, harvested from 
trees and seed that journeyed all the way across 
the ocean. 

Anne. — I thought — I thought they were 
pomegranates. 

Mr. Blackstone. — Indeed, no! Here! Eat 
one. They are sound and sweet, I can answer 
for that. (He hands one to Margaret.) 



90 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF. COLONIAL DAYS 

Margaret. — (Tasting it.) Oh, 'tis a goodly 
fruit! And did they all grow in your garden? 

Mr. Blackstone. — Nay, they grew on trees 
in my orchard. Next spring you must all come 
to see my trees in bloom. 

Margaret, Patience, Anne, (together) — 
Oh, thank you, Mr. Blackstone! 

Mr. Williams. — Here comes my man. 
(Adam comes in.) Adam! Did I not tell you, 
an hour ago, to carry in yon sack? Think you I 
must clothe and feed and house a surly, lazy 
knave? 

Adam. — I did intend to bring the sack in, 
sir, but Mr. Blackstone's bull broke loose and 
I needs must chase him all through the meadows. 

Mr. Williams. — Take the sack now and go 
in. But wait a moment. Here, little maids, 
hold your aprons. (He puts some apples into 
each apron.) 

Margaret, Patience, Anne, (together) — 
Oh, thank you, sir! Oh, thank you, thank you! 

Adam. — (Muttering.) I chase a four-footed 
beast across three fields and then am called a 
lazy knave. 

(Adam takes the sack and goes in) 

Anne. — Might we draw a drink of water at 
your well, Mr. Williams? 

Mr. Williams. — Yes, but call Adam to help 



THE FIRST CROP OF APPLES 91 

you, for the rope does not wind easily. Good- 
day, little maids! 

Patience, Anne, Margaret, (together) — 
Good-day, Mr. Williams! Good-day, Mr. 
Blackstone! Thank you for the apples. (They 
watch the two gentlemen go away.) 

Margaret. — After we have the drink of 
water, will you finish the story, Anne? 

Anne. — I don't know — I think so — but 
I'll have to change the pomegranates to apples. 

Patience. — Oh, we shall not mind in the 
least. 

Anne. — Look ! There is Adam going towards 
the well! Let us hurry and catch him. 

(They run off) 



A SKIRMISH AT RENSSE- 
LAERSWIJCK 

A STORY OF NEW YORK IN COLONIAL DAYS 

CHARACTERS 

Roelof Jannsen bonsomeester (over- 
seer) to Patroon Van Rensselaer 

Annetje wife of Roelof 

Pieter, a boy of nine 



children of Roelof and 
Annetje 



Sara, a girl of eight 

William, a boy of six 

Catrina, a baby of two . 

Antony Claesen 1 residents of the city of 

Carl Vanderman J New Amsterdam 

SCENE 

The living-room in Roelof Jannsen's house at 
Rensselaer swijck . 

TIME 

The Year of Grace, 1641, during the directorship 
of William Kieft 

A long, low-raftered room dimly lighted by a lamp. 
An open fire-place at one end, where Roelof 
Jannsen sits, smoking his pipe. At the other 



A SKIRMISH AT RENSSELAERSWIJCK 93 

end is a stairway leading to the bedroom. An- 
netje comes down the stairway, carrying a 
lighted candle. She blows the candle out and 
places it on a table in the middle of the room. 
Going over to the fire-place, she sits down and 
begins to knit. 

Roelof. — Didst get the children to sleep? 

Annetje. — Oh, the children have been wild 
to-day and full of notions! Pieter hath stirred 
them all with foolish talk of Indians. Roelof, 
the boy hath troubled me! He keeps insist- 
ing that he heard that cannon shot, early yes- 
terday morning, from the direction of the fort. 

Roelof. — Nay! That is nonsense! 

Annetje. — Yet the boy is not given to 
imagining or to the telling of untruths. Thinkest 
thou they were saluting at the fort? 

Roelof. — The director hath no cannon 
balls to waste. The only ship expected this 
month was the Herring. She is in. She came 
in from the coast, last week. Besides, Pieter's 
ears are not sharp enough to hear cannons far- 
ther than ten miles away. 

Annetje. — I daresay it is idle foolishness. 

Roelof. — Put the matter out of thy mind, 
Annetje! I have other things for thee to think 
of. What dost thou say, if, when next spring 
comes, I should take a farm along the Bouwerie? 



94 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF # COLONIAL DAYS 

Annetje. — But will it please Patroon Van 
Rensselaer? He may not care to lose so good a 
bonsomeester. 

PtOELOF. — Nay, 'tis the patroon himself who 
proposes it. He came to me this morning. 
" Jannsen!" he said, "thy four years' contract 
ends next spring. Wilt thou stay here another 
four, or wilt thou take a new farm near Bou- 
werie Village?" 

Annetje (her needles clicking very fast). — 
Didst thou agree to change? 

Roelof. — Thinkest thou I would jump in 
the dark? "Herr Patroon," said I, "will I 
hold the new farm under the same conditions?" 
"Nay, Jannsen," answered he, "thou wilt have 
half of whatever profits the new farm yields!" 
What thinkest thou of that? 

Annetje. — I like it not, Roelof. 

Roelof. — Thou dost not understand. 

Annetje. — I understand well enough. Thou 
hast cleared the land and tilled and sowed and 
made it a second Canaan. Now our good mais- 
ter patroon would have thee begin all over again 
on the barren Bouwerie. 

Roelof. — But there is plenty of cattle and 
of grain with which to stock a second farm; 
and remember, we should have half of the 
profits. 

Annetje. — 'Tis very good, Roelof Jannsen, 



A SKIRMISH AT RENSSELAERSWIJCK 95 

to talk of harvests in seed time. Hendrick Con- 
duit also talked. What happened to him? 
Dost thou remember? The first crop failed. 
The cattle died. Cannot that happen to you? 
Why canst thou not be content to stay here, 
where thy fortunes are tried and known? 

Roelof. — But, Annetje, thou, thyself, hast 
often complained because we are near no vil- 
lage. There the children could go to school. 
You would have neighbors and I 

Annetje. — Ah! Now I see thy drift. Tis 
not the soil that attracts thee, no, nor the prof- 
its! 'Tis the bowling alleys of Antony Claesen, 
and the deep tankards of Carl Vanderman! 

Roelof. — Listen! 

Annetje. — I would 

Roelof. — Be still, I say! 

(Annetje forgets her anger to listen, and they both 
sit intent. A low, splashing sound comes to 
them through the summer night) 

Roelof. — Some one is fording the Kill. (He 
gets up and goes to the open door.) 

(The sound of horses galloping swiftly can 
be heard. There is a noise at the door. 
"Roelof Jannsen!" cries a voice, without) 

Roelof. — This way, neighbor. (A man 
carrying a musket appears in the door.) 



96 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Roelof. — What, Antony Claesen? Good, 
then! 

Claesen. — The Indians are up! 

Annetje. — May the good God protect us! 

Roelof. — Dost thou think they will attack 
to-night? 

Claesen. — Yes. We must be quick. Put 
my horse up and see to the out-houses. 

Roelof. — See to the doors and windows, 
Annetje, and call the children. (Roelof takes 
his musket and goes out, followed by Claesen. 
Annetje runs to the foot of the stairway.) 

Annetje. — Pieter! Sara! Pieter! Pieter! (A 
boy's sleepy voice from above: u Are you calling, 
mother?' 1 ) 

Annetje. — Get up and dress! Quickly, 
Pieter. Wake Sara and the rest! Quickly, all 
of you. (She bars the windows and doors and 
takes down the guns and begins priming them.) 

Annetje. — Merciful Heaven! There are so 
few of us! Why does not Roelof come back? 
(She runs over to the foot of the stairs.) Sara, 
are you hurrying? Be quick and bring the baby 
as she is. (She goes back to the table.) Not a 
man within two miles! Why does not Roelof 
hurry? (The children come down-stairs, Sara 
carrying the baby who is asleep. William and 
Pieter follow her.) 

Sara. — What is the matter, mother? 



A SKIRMISH AT RENSSELAERSWIJCK 97 

Pieter. — Is it the Indians? 

Annetje. — I fear so. Do as I say and ask 
no questions. Sara, get the baby's cradle and 
put it there in the corner. Pieter, you must 
help me. Give the baby to William, Sara. 

(Sara goes upstairs. William stands wide-eyed, 
holding the sleeping baby) 

Pieter. — Where is father? 

Annetje. — He has gone with Antony Clae- 
sen to see to the cattle. 

Pieter. — Did Antony Claesen come to tell 
us? Will they come to-night? 

Annetje. — I fear so. 

Pieter. — Thou hast nothing to fear, mother. 
Brant Phelan says that five men with guns can 
keep an hundred Indians at bay! 

Annetje. — Five men, Pieter! But we have 
only two. 

Pieter. — There is father and Antony Clae- 
sen and I am half a man. 

William. — And I am another half. 

Pieter. — And you can shoot, mother. Do 
you remember, once, down in the lane, you 
fired father's gun and hit a cow; and father 
scolded and you cried? Thou wouldst not cry 
an it were an Indian, wouldst thou, mother? 

Annetje. — Nay, Pieter! Why dost not 
thy father come back? (She goes to the door.) 



98 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

{Sara comes down, carrying a cradle.) 

Sara. — Here is the cradle, mother. 

Annetje. — There, put it in the corner. 
(Annetje takes the baby from William and puts 
her in the cradle.) She will be safe so. Listen! 
What was that! (Sara hides her head upon her 
mother's shoulder. Pieter picks up a gun. Wil- 
liam cowers behind him.) 

Voice from without. — Annetje! Annetje! 

Annetje. — Tis thy father! I am coming. 

(She runs to the door. Enter Roelof 
and Claesen) 

Claesen. — We must bolt this door. (They 
drop the heavy bars in place and push the dresser 
against the door.) 

Annetje. — Do you think that they will 
come to-night? 

Claesen. — I think so. News reached the 
fort yesterday that an Indian had murdered 
Maister Claes, who lives across the river. A 
delegation was sent to the Weckquseskeeks, and 
the upshot of it all is war. I was sent with 
Vanderman to warn the outlying bouweries. 
It is the director's order that you shall all 
come to one place and form a village. On our 
way up here, we met a woodsman who said that 
he had seen a party of Indians dressed for war 



A SKIRMISH AT RENSSELAERSWIJCK 99 

and headed this way! Here they are! (Sev- 
eral arrows strike the outside wall of the house.) 

Roelof. — I will take this side; you take 
the other. Annetje! Sara! William! Pieter! 
Stay at the back, and be ready to reload. 

Roelof (runs to the window and looks through 
the small round hole in the heavy shutter) . — About 
twenty of them, are coming! (There is a shrill 
yell from the outside and a sudden on-rush. Roe- 
lof fires. A long yell and then silence.) They 
did not expect that; they have gone back. 

Claesen. — They will come again on both 
sides. (Both men wait with guns cocked. There 
is a tense silence.) 

Sara. — Oh, mother, I am afraid. (An arrow 
flies into the room and lodges, quivering.) 

Roelof. — Here they come! 

Claesen. — Wait until they are close. (For 
a few minutes there is only the din of shooting and 
the yelling of the Indians. The baby wakes and 
begins to cry.) 

Annetje. — I hear guns on the outside. 

Claesen. — Thank God, it is Vanderman 
and his party! They have hemmed in the 
Indians. (Shots coming nearer continue to be 
heard.) 

Roelof. — We must aim carefully. 

Voice from without. — Roelof ! Jannsen ! 
Open for us ! Open for us ! (Roelof goes to the 



100 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF- COLONIAL DAYS 

door. Enter four men carrying one who is 
wounded in the shoulder.) 

Roelof. — Thank God, you are come! Is it 
a serious hurt? 

Vanderman {carefully pulling back the shirt 
from the wounded marts shoulder). — No, only a 
flesh wound. 

Annetje. — Heat some water in the embers, 
Sara! We must see to this poor fellow. Will 
the Indians return, Herr Vanderman? 

Vanderman. — You need fear nothing, to- 
night. 

Claesen. — In the morning, we will make 
our way to Bouwerie Village. 

Roelof. — Wilt thou scorn the village this 
time, Annetje? 

Annetje. — Nay, Roelof, this is no time for 
jest. Thou knowest well that I will be only 
too glad to leave this lonesome place. We 
must make a bed for the children down here, 
Roelof. Come, help me to carry some things. 



HOW THE INDIANS 
PLANTED POWDER 

A STORY OF COLONIAL DAYS IN MASSA- 
CHUSETTS 



A Colonist 
Black Eagle 
Blue Feather 
Fighting Bear 
A Squaw 



CHARACTERS 



. Indians 



SCENE 



The field at one end of an Indian village . Black 
Eagle and Fighting Bear are looking at the ground. 

Black Eagle. — The seed is not sprouting. 
Yet now it has been in the ground for nine suns. 

Fighting Bear. — Perhaps thou hast 
planted it too deep. 

Black Eagle. — It was not planted deep 
enough. The squaws were lazy. They were 
too lazy to sharpen their plows which have 
become blunted and do not scratch up the 
earth. (Enter Blue Feather.) 

Blue Feather. — What art thou searching 
so closely for on the ground, Black Eagle? 



102 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Black Eagle. — Thou must know, Blue 
Feather, that a moon ago, with skins, I visited 
the white man's wigwam. When I -came out, 
there, lying on the ground, was a bag filled with 
the white man's powder — for the guns. I said 
to myself, "No longer does the white man give 
us powder, nor will he exchange it for skins. 
Of what use are our guns, if we cannot feed 
them?" So I brought the bag away with me. 
When I reached the wigwams, I called the 
squaws. "Go plow one corner of the field," I 
said, "for I have some seed to plant." They 
plowed. I planted. I thought to reap a 
good crop of powder to use against the Eng- 
lish. Seest thou aught of green things pushing 
through the earth? It is now nine suns since I 
planted. 

Blue Feather. — Dost thou know how the 
English plant this seed? Thou shouldst have 
learned the secret from them. 

Fighting Bear. — The English will not tell. 
White man keeps his secrets well! 

Black Eagle. — Look! Here comes one of 
them! 

Blue Feather. — It is the laughing one. 

Fighting Bear. — Let us wrest the secret 
from him! Let us take his gun and force him 
to tell us how to plant this powder. 

Blue Feather. — Yes! He is alone. 



HOW THE INDIANS PLANTED POWDER 103 

Black Eagle. — But he will warn his people, 
and when the crops are ripe they will harvest 
the powder. 

Blue Feather. — We will take it far off and 
plant it where they cannot find it. 

Black Eagle. — Very well. Then we will 
ask him. 

(The colonist comes up to them) 

The Colonist. — Good morning, my friends! 

The Indians. — Morning, white brother. 
Welcome ! 

The Colonist. — Know you of anyone who 
has moccasins to sell? 

Fighting Bear (bowing low) . — We make 
you present — as many moccasins as you want. 

The Colonist. — No, no. I will pay you 
for them. 

Black Eagle. — Take them — a gift from 
me, brother! I will call my squaw to measure 
thy foot. 

(He calls "Ku Yul Ku Yul" A squaw comes 
from one of the wigwams) 

Black Eagle. — Get a piece of deer-thong 
to measure moccasins! 

(The squaw goes out and returns with a piece) 

Black Eagle. — Put forth thy foot, friend. 



104 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

i 

(The squaw measures and makes knots in the 
deer-thong. Then she goes into the wigwam) 

The Colonist (holding up his fingers). — 
Two pairs of moccasins — two for this foot, and 
two for this foot. You understand? 

Black Eagle. — Yes, yes, as many as you want ! 

The Colonist. — Bring them to my house when 
they are finished and you shall be rewarded. 

Fighting Bear. — Fine gun! Is he heavy? 

The Colonist. — No, my friend, not for 
such as know how to carry him. 

Fighting Bear. — Let me carry him a little 
while. 

The Colonist. — Some time, yes. When 
you come to visit me. 

Fighting Bear. — No, now! (He steps for- 
ward. Blue Feather, from behind, wrenches the 
gun from the colonist.) 

Blue Feather (pointing the gun at the colo- 
nist) . — Now you will talk to us and tell us what 
we want to know. 

The Colonist. — What is it that you want 
me to tell you? 

Black Eagle. — Tell us and we will not 
harm you. In what manner dost thou plant 
the powder for thy gun? 

The Colonist. — Plant the powder for my 
gun? (He laughs aloud.) 



HOW THE INDIANS PLANTED POWDER 105 

The Indians. — Yes. 

Black Eagle. — I have planted powder in 
this field but it does not sprout. 

(The colonist shouts with laughter) 

Fighting Bear. — Why do you laugh? Do 
you not see that we have your gun? 

The Colonist. — Come, let me ask you a 
question. Where have you seen the white 
man's powder growing? 

(The Indians remain silent. They gesticulate) 

The Colonist. — The white man's powder 
does not grow. 

Fighting Bear. — How does he get it? 

The Colonist. — Listen! The powder comes 
over the sea from our other homes. There 
it is made in big houses from things that we have 
not in this land. The white man himself can- 
not make it here. He has it brought from far, 
far away. Now give me my gun. Bring the 
moccasins to my house when the new moon is 
in the sky and you shall be well paid. 

(They sullenly hand him the gun) 

Good-day, my friends. You've treated me 
badly on the whole, but 'tis a rare good joke 
you've played on yourselves. 

(He goes off laughing) 



INDIAN GIFTS 

A STORY OF P RISC ILL A ALDEN' S COW 

CHARACTERS 

John Alden J newly married young people 

Priscilla Alden I of Plymouth 

Diligence Wheelwright . .a dear friend of 

Priscilla 
Komako an Indian 

SCENE 
The interior of John Alden' s new house. 

(John is putting a dresser in place. When it 
is quite right he calls Priscilla) 

(Priscilla comes in) 

John. — Well, Priscilla, dost thou like it? 

Priscilla. — Like it! Oh, John, how could 
I help myself? How lovely! How lovely! 
Already am I bowed down before it, as a heathen 
before his idol. No one in Plymouth hath so 
fine a dresser. 

John. — Have a care, Priscilla! Now art 
thou growing proud! What should I do with a 
proud heathen for my wife? 



INDIAN GIFTS 107 

Priscilla. — Nay, nay, I am not proud — 
not of anything, save thee. 

John. — For a truth, do I outshine the dresser 
in thy eyes? 

Priscilla. — Yes and everything and every- 
body in the colony. 

John. — Have a care! Have a care with 
thy flattery and with thy blandishments or we 
will both become a subject for church admoni- 
tion. 

Priscilla. — How pretty my pewter dishes 
will look upon that shelf! They are not very 
many, but they are of good quality and in a 
good state of preservation. 

John. — I have another surprise for thee, 
sweet! 

Priscilla. — Oh, tell me quickly, John. 

John. — First, you must guess. 

Priscilla. — Oh, you are going to send to 
England for a pair of tall brass candle-sticks! 

John. — Why, Priscilla ! I had not thought 
of it. I will send by the next ship. 

Priscilla. — Nay! Nay! Nay! I do not 
want them. We do very well as 'tis. "I will 
send by the next ship," quoth my lord, as though 
he were a royal proprietor. 

John. — But if thou dost like them. 

Priscilla. — Nay, nay, I like them not — 
I was merely guessing. I will guess no more 



108 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

if thou wilt be sending over seas for everything 
I mention. 

John. — Come, try again. 

Priscilla. — Governor Bradford has con- 
ferred some honor upon thee. 

John. — I' faith no. Thou hast too high an 
aim. I see I will have to tell thee. This morn- 
ing I was talking to Goodman Fuller 

Priscilla. — I have it! I have it! Thou 
hast bought a cow of him. 

John. — And thou art glad? 

Priscilla. — Oh, so glad! Tell me! Is it 
the brindled one with the soft eyes? 

John. — The very one. 

Priscilla. — Oh, how happy I am! Now, 
John, you must make a churn and then we 
will have butter and cheese and curds and whey 
— Oh, we will live in luxury! 

John. — I am going now to see Captain Wins- 
low about clearing some of the uplands. On 
my way home I will bring the cow. 

Priscilla. — I will get out my pewter and 
polish it to such brightness as will dazzle you 
when you return. 

John. — Do not polish it away. 
Priscilla. — And I shall think of a name 
for the cow. A soft, pretty name. 
John. — One like Priscilla? 
Priscilla. — Good-bye. Good-bye, must I 



INDIAN GIFTS 109 

close the door on thee? There now, get thee 
gone. 

(He goes out) 

Priscilla (takes her pewter out and begins to 
polish it and arrange it on the new dresser). — Oh! 
how lovely this is! How proud I shall be to 
show it to Diligence! Diligence will rejoice 
with me, I know. I wish she too would marry 
— someone kind and thoughtful like my John. 

(The door behind her opens and an Indian steps in) 

The Indian. — White squaw be my friend? 
Komako in much trouble. (He holds forth a 
hand torn and bleeding.) 

Priscilla. — Oh, sit down! Sit down! How 
terrible! How did it happen? 

Komako. — Gun! Bang! All fire! No 
friend to Komako! (He points to his gun.) 

Priscilla. — I will try not to hurt thee, but 
thou must let me bathe it. (She heats some water 
over the fire and then begins to bathe his hand.) 

Komako. — Plenty much pretty things. 
(Looking at the pewter on the dresser.) 

Priscilla. — Yes, very pretty. Komako, 
do I hurt thee? (The Indian grunts.) 

Priscilla. — Now that is better. Here I 
have some salve that is very healing. (She 
brings down a small box from a shelf and puts 
some in his hand.) 



110 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Komako. — English very great medicine men 
— very wise. 

Priscilla. — Now hold thy hand out so 
that I can bandage it. (She begins to bandage 
the hand. Some one knocks at the door) 

Priscilla (still bandaging). — Come in! 

(Diligence Wheelwright enters) 

Diligence. — Mercy me! What hath hap- 
pened? 

Priscilla. — This poor fellow's gun hath ex- 
ploded and shattered two of his fingers! Here, 
take this scarf and fold it crosswise for a sling. 
I have done the best that I know how, but I 
fear that it will not prove much good. 

Komako. — White squaw, my friend! 

Diligence. — Is not this a sudden friendship, 
Priscilla? 

Priscilla. — Yea, I believe so! (She takes 
the sling, ties it around the Indian's neck, and 
puts his hand in it.) There, my friend. If 
you are this way to-morrow stop at my door 
and* I will dress the hand again. Now I will 
give you something to eat! 

Komako. — Now I go. Give me to drink. 

(Priscilla gives him a drink and a cake) 

Priscilla. — Here is a cake of corn. Take 
it with thee. 

Komako (nodding at her) . — You great friend 



INDIAN GIFTS 111 

to Komako in trouble. Komako remembers 
always his friend. 

(He goes out) 

Diligence. — Wert thou not afraid, Pris- 
cilla, to be here alone with that great fellow? 

Priscilla. — Not after the first shock, when 
he opened the door and came silently upon me. 
I was too full of pity for aught else. Poor fel- 
low, he must have been in great pain. 

Diligence. — He was grateful. That was 
plain. 

Priscilla. — And now look behind thee! 

Diligence. — Oh! Oh, Priscilla! 

Priscilla. — 'Twas a surprise for me. John 
put it up this morning, while I was picking 
blueberries. Is it not a thing to be proud of? 

Diligence. — And all thy lovely pewter! 

Priscilla. — I was about to arrange it, when 
that poor Indian came upon me. Come, wilt 
thou help me now? 

Diligence. — Oh, I would take delight in 
helping thee. (They begin to polish and arrange 
it.) Oh, Priscilla, how lucky thou art to have 
such a John! 

Priscilla. — Yea, am I not? How I would 
love to see thee married! Truly, Diligence, 
tell me. Are the rumors I hear true that 

Diligence, — No, no, not a grain of truth, 



112 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

not a shadow! Can a maid not be seen 
bidding good-morrow to a man? 

Priscilla. — Come, Diligence, be honest! 
Thou hast done more than bid him good-mor- 
row. Who planted so sweet a garden about thy 
house that its fragrance comes on the wind all 
day? Who planted thy rose vines and trained 
them, an 

Diligence. — Oh, do be quiet! Thou art 
like all the rest — meddlesome, meddlesome, 
meddlesome! 

Priscilla. — Oh, what a pretty vixen! But, 
hark! There is John! He is to bring a cow 
with him. Come and see it. (She pulls Dili- 
gence to the door, just as John enters.) Didst 
bring the cow, John? I have been telling Dili- 
gence of it. Is it outside? 

John. — Nay, Priscilla, I must disappoint 
thee. We had hoped very much for this cow, 
Diligence. I had already purchased it, and 
was waiting for the time to separate it from its 
calf. This afternoon I had made arrangements 
with Goodman Fuller to bring it home. 

Priscilla. — Yes, yes! What hath hap- 
pened? 

John. — Someone hath stolen it. 

Priscilla and Diligence. — Stolen it! 

John. — Yes. Goodman Fuller saw it 
browsing, just before I arrived. When I came, 



INDIAN GIFTS 113 

it was nowhere to be found. I will not be able 
to find another this year, Priscilla. 

Diligence. — What dost thou think, John? 
Who could have done this? 

Priscilla. — In my mind's eye I had already 
made a little round cheese. 

John. — Do not fret, sweetheart! We will 
have a cow some time. 

(Komako enters) 

Komako. — Present for white squaw. Come 
outside. 

John. — Who is he? What does he want? 

Priscilla. — I am going to see what he wants. 
Diligence can explain to you. (She starts to 
go out.) 

John. — Nay, I will not allow it. 

Komako. — Komako great friend — no hurt. 

(Priscilla steps out with him) 

Diligence. — That Indian came this after- 
noon with a wounded hand to Priscilla. She 
bathed and dressed it. He was most grateful. 
He hath brought her some present, I daresay. 

John. — Come, let us follow her. 

(Priscilla comes running in) 

Priscilla. — Oh, John! Oh, John! It is 
the cow, our cow! That poor Indian stole it 



114 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

— our cow — to give to me for a present. I 
was so joyful that I forgot to show how much 
at fault he was! Oh, I am so happy. Come, 
Diligence, come out and see it! 

(They go out laughing) 



, 



A CHRISTMAS TREE IN 
NEW ENGLAND 

A STORY OF HOW THE PURITANS KEPT 
CHRISTMAS 

CHARACTERS 

Goodman and Goodwife Carr . . stern Puritans 

Peter Carr their small son 

Abigail Carr their small daughter 

Cornelius Van Clief. .a Dutch boy who has 

come to live with his father and mother in the 

colony 

SCENE 

The living-room in Goodman Carr's house. 

(Peter comes in running, calling "Abigail! 
Abigail!") 

Abigail. — Yes. Here I am. What do you 
want? (She comes in from another room.) 

Peter. — Oh, Abigail, I have wonderful news 
to tell you! 

Abigail. — What is it, Peter? Tell me 
quickly ! 

Peter. — It's all about the Christmas tree ! 
Cornelius Van Clief is going to have one. 



116 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Christmas trees are trees that you cut down and 
stand up in the house and then you decorate 
them and hang gifts upon them; and then 
Kris Kringle comes and brings you more gifts. 
He puts them in your stocking (only one stock- 
ing must you hang up). That is Christmas! 

Abigail. — Oh, Peter! How have you 
learned all this? Who is Kris Kringle? 

Peter. — Kris Kringle is a man who lives in 
the far North. Each year he visits the chil- 
dren and brings them gifts, if they have been 
good. He comes in a sleigh drawn by two rein- 
deer, and the reindeer have little bells on their 
harnesses. Cornelius says sometimes you can 
hear the bells. 

Abigail. — But, Peter! Kris Kringle has 
never brought gifts to us! 

Peter. — Cornelius says that is because we 
have never hung up our stockings or set up a 
Christmas tree. So, Abigail, do let us have 
a Christmas tree this year! 

Abigail. — Yes, Peter ! Tell me ! How shall 
we get one? 

Peter. — I am going out now to cut down 
one. There is a little fir tree just behind the 
house. (He takes down an axe.) While I am 
gone, you must prepare the decorations. 

Abigail. — But, Peter, where shall I get 
decorations? 



A CHRISTMAS TREE IN NEW ENGLAND 117 

Peter. — Well, let me see. I will give you 
my new worsted mittens and you will give me the 
red scarf that came from over seas. And 

Abigail. — Oh, but, Peter! Your mittens are 
too large for me and I want to keep the scarf. 

Peter. — Very well. Then we cannot have 
a Christmas tree! I hope Kris Kringle forgets 
us this year, too. 

Abigail. — Oh, Peter, please let us have a tree. 

Peter. — Well, you cannot have a tree with- 
out gifts, for Cornelius said so. 

Abigail. — Well, then you may have the 
scarf. 

Peter. — We'll have to have other things, 
too — not gifts — just ornaments — like — like 
— er — the clock, only that's too large. But I 
must hurry, for mother and father will be back 
shortly and we had best get the tree up, before 
they return. See what you can find, Abigail. 
(He goes out.) 

Abigail. — Oh, I see naught with which to dec- 
orate a tree. I wonder what Cornelius Van Clief 
will use. Oh, there he goes now, down the road ! 
Cornelius! Cornelius! (She runs to the door.) 
Cornelius, prithee, step this way a moment. 

(Cornelius comes in) 

Abigail. — Oh, Cornelius, Peter hath been 
telling me of the tree. He has gone to cut down 



118 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

one and I am to get the decorations. That is 
why I called to you. Tell me what is proper 
to put on a tree. 

Cornelius. — Oh, there are many things. 
We have pieces of colored glass and a waxen 
angel. Have you cranberries? The red ones 
look pretty strung in rows. 

Abigail. — Why, we have a great dish full. 
I will use them. 

(Enter Peter) 

Cornelius. — Let me help you with the 
tree, Peter. , 

Peter. — Oh, Cornelius, I am so glad you 
are here! How shall I make it stand? 

Cornelius. — Get me a pot, Abigail. Peter, 
you must fill it with earth. The ground is 
not frozen very hard. 

Abigail. — Here is the pot. 

Peter. — I will run quickly. (He goes out.) 

Cornelius. — Now I must have a piece of 
rope. 

Abigail. — Here is a piece. 

Cornelius. — And now give me some nails. 

Abigail. — They are in a box in that cor- 
ner. (She runs to bring them.) 

Cornelius. — Now, Abigail, run and get 
the cranberries and a needle and thread so that 
we can string them. ■ 



A CHRISTMAS TREE IN NEW ENGLAND 119 

(Abigail goes to get the berries. Peter comes in 
with earth) 

Peter. — Here is the earth. 

Cornelius. — Come, lift up the tree. Now 
we will plant it in the pot — so. I will hold 
it. You hammer a nail into the wall, Peter. 
Now we will tie the tree to it. There! Is 
not that fine? That is how my father doth. 

(Abigail comes in) 

Abigail. — Here is the needle and thread and 
the berries. 

Cornelius. — Now string them in this 
fashion and then loop them from bough to 
bough. Now I must be gone. Good-bye, 
Peter! Good-bye, Abigail! I will come in and 
see your tree to-morrow. 

Peter and Abigail. — Oh, please do ! Good- 
bye, Cornelius! Good-bye! 

(Cornelius goes out) 

Peter. — Now I will put the mittens and 
the scarf on the tree. This will be a fine tree, 
Abigail ! 

Abigail. — Yes! But, Peter! We have no 
waxen angel! 

Peter. — Well, what of that? Oh, Abigail, 
what say you to father's brass shoe-buckles? 
They would make a fine show. 



120 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Abigail. — Oh, yes! Oh, yes! How clever 
you are, Peter! 

Peter. — Tis a good idea. You do not 
think father will mind? 

Abigail. — Oh, no, truly. He will be glad. 
Fetch them to me. They are in yonder box. 
And oh, Peter — there is likewise some red 
yarn. That would be magnificent! 

{Peter brings the yarn and the buckles) 

Abigail. — We will put the buckles on top 
and drape the yarn like this. 

{Enter Goodman and Goodwife Carr. Goodwife 
Carr standing horrified in the doorway) 

Goodwife Carr. — Why, what is this? {Hold- 
ing up her hands.) 

Goodman Carr. — Answer thy mother! 
What mummery is this? 

Peter. — We are having a Christmas tree, 
father. 

Goodman Carr. — A Christmas tree! 
Wherefore? Oh, merciful Lord, is it for this 
that I have toiled and sweated? Is it for this 
that I have prayed — that my children should 
raise up images to Satan and walk in ungodly 
ways. {Turning to Goodwife Carr) Wife, knew 
you aught of this? 

Goodwife Carr. — Nay, naught. My chil- 



A CHRISTMAS TREE IN NEW ENGLAND 121 

dren, answer me. How came you to do this, 
this ungodly thing? 

Abigail. — We know naught of its being 
ungodly. We meant no harm. Cornelius , Van 
Clief told us of Christmas trees and 

Goodman Carr. — Enough, prate no more 
of these sinful revels. Get you up stairs and 
presently I will come and intercede with the 
Lord to forgive you for such wickedness. You 
must go supperless to bed to-night. 

{Peter and Abigail go out sorrowfully) 

This comes of allowing the Dutch and other 
unsanctified peoples to settle amongst us. 

Goodwife Carr. — Do but look! Thy brass 
buckles! And my fine red yarn! 

Goodman Carr. — Tell me of naught, but 
help me to cast forth these impious works, lest 
the wrath of the Lord find us out. 

{They pull down the Christmas tree and throw it 
out at the door) 



ROBERT MORRIS AND THE 
REVOLUTION 

A STORY OF HOW THE REVOLUTION WAS 
FINANCED 

CHARACTERS 

Robert Morris . collecting money for Washington 
John Marshall. . . .a resident of Philadelphia 

Mrs. John Marshall his wife 

Edward and Elizabeth 1 . . their small son and 
Marshall J daughter 

SCENE 

A street in Philadelphia; before the house of 
Mr. Marshall 

TIME 

New Year's Morning, 1777. 

{Robert Morris comes walking hurriedly down 
the street, stops in front of Mr. Marshall's 
house, ascends the high stoop, and impatiently 
lifts the knocker. There is no response from 
the house. He knocks again, this time louder 
and longer.) 



ROBERT MORRIS AND THE REVOLUTION 123 

Robert Morris. — My country's service 
bodes no further delay. Mr. Marshall, I'll 
warrant me, is still abed. (Footsteps are heard 
coming down the stairs and the key turns hastily 
in the lock.) 

Mr. Marshall (looking as though he had 
dressed very hastily and with his night-cap still 
upon his head) . — Zounds, man, what kind — 
a thousand pardons, Mr. Morris! In the early 
light, I did not recognize you. 

Mr. Morris. — It is I who should ask par- 
don of you, Mr. Marshall, but my errand is of 
vital importance to you, to me, and to our 
country. It calls for no apology. 

Mr. Marshall. — I am yours to com- 
mand. 

Mr. Morris. — Washington, our most noble 
general, is, as you know, with the army at Val- 
ley Forge. The sufferings of the men, — their 
dire distress, — you also know. General Wash- 
ington has asked me to raise for the immediate 
relief of the army the sum of twenty-five hundred 
pounds. I have come to you, Mr. Marshall, 
to ask your generous aid. 

(Mrs. Marshall comes to the door and 
graciously walks out to the stoop) 

Mrs. Marshall (sweeping a courtesy). — 
Wilt thou not walk inside, Mr. Morris? I fear 



124 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

me the earliness of the day has made us forget 
our hospitality. 

Mr. Morris. — I thank you, Mrs. Marshall, 
but I have no time to tarry. I am about the 
affairs of our army in Valley Forge. I come to 
solicit aid from your husband. 

Mrs. Marshall (turning to her husband). 
— Thou wilt do all in thy power to help, 
John? 

Mr. Marshall. — I have the small sum of 
seventy pounds, which I will willingly give. 
Will you fetch it, Ann? 

(Mrs. Marshall goes back into the house) 

Mr. Marshall. — It is cold out-of-doors. 
Mr. Morris, will you not step inside? 

Mr. Morris. — Nay, I thank you. But 
what think you of the hardships of our poor 
men with Washington, when it is cold for us? 

Mr. Marshall. — War is a sad business and 
to be feared. Here is my wife. 

(Enter Mrs. Marshall with a bag of money, 
which she presents to Mr. Morris) 

Mrs. Marshall. — 'Tis all we have to give 
thee, Mr. Morris; but I pray that our worthy 
neighbors may better reward thy efforts. I 
shall endeavor to collect linen and blankets in 
plenty to relieve the sufferings of the men. 



ROBERT MORRIS AND THE REVOLUTION 125 

Mr. Morris. — God reward you, madam. 
Good morning, sir. Washington will not fail 
to appreciate your generosity. 

(Elizabeth and Edward come running out, just as 
Mr. Morris gets to the foot of the steps. 
Going over to their mother, they cling to her 
skirts and look shyly at the retreating figure) 

Edward. — Who was that, mother? 

Mrs. Marshall. — That was Mr. Morris, 
my dear, a brave gentleman, who is trying to 
help our soldiers at Valley Forge. Come! It is 
too cold for thee to be out here. Let us go in. 

(Exeunt) 



AT ANCHOR 

A STORY OF HOW JOHN BILLINGTON SET 
FIRE TO THE GOOD SHIP MAYFLOWER 

CHARACTERS 
John 

David children on the Mayflower 

Nancy 

Captain Jones captain of the ship 

Mr. Higginson minister to the Pilgrims 

Sailors 

SCENE 

The deck of the Mayflower in port just before 
setting sail. Mr. Higginson is talking to 
David and Nancy. 

Mr. Higginson. — I am going below, chil- 
dren. Remember, stay where you are and do 
not get in the way of the men. 

The Children. — Yes, sir. 

(He goes below) 

Nancy. — Oh, see, David! Oh, see! They 
are hoisting up goats onto the Talbot. 

David. — Oh! Oh! By the horns! If that 
rope should break, the fall would kill the goat. 
Oh, the poor little goat! 



AT ANCHOR 127 

Nancy. — I am glad we did not have to be 
hoisted on board that way. How the pigs 
squealed when they carried them aboard the 
George! I am glad there are no pigs voyaging 
with us. 

David. — I like pigs — little ones. They 
have such small twisted tails. 

Nancy. — Oh, there is John. John! John! 
Come hither, and watch the goats being drawn 
up into the Talbot. 

(John comes in) 

David. — There goes the fourth! 

John. — Oh, I saw goats being hoisted into 
the George this morning. I'm sorry that we 
have no goats with us. I asked Mr. Higginson 
for one this morning, but he refused to give it 
to me. He says that he thinks I may have one 
when we reach Virginia. 

David. — I wish that they would finish taking 
in provision and get away. I want to be out at 
sea. 

John. — Sailors do not say, "Get away." 
They say, "Set sail," or, "Get under sail." 
The sailors would laugh at thee. Well, I am 
going down again to watch the men. Wilt thou 
come, David? 

David. — No. Captain Jones allowed us here 
as a special favor. 



128 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Nancy. — He said that we were not to move 
about or get in the men's way. 

John. — I don't get in their way. I'm going 
down. 

(He runs off and almost dashes into two sailors 
who are carrying a large chest) 

The Men. — Look away, there! Clear out! 
How does the captain think that we can work 
with children swarming all over the deck? 
Look out! 

(The men go away) 

Nancy. — We may set sail this afternoon, if 
we are ready in time to catch the tide. 

David. — Oh, I hope that we do! 

Nancy. — Come, let us play a game. 

David. — I don't know any game for just 
two people. Dost thou? 

Nancy. — Let me think. Oh, I know! Let 
us skip rope. (She runs over to a coil of rope.) 
Here is a nice, thin one. I don't think that they 
will mind our skipping rope, dost thou? Oh, 
here is the captain! (The captain comes in.) 
Captain Jones, please may we skip rope? 

Captain Jones. — Yes, yes. But keep there 
in the corner and do not unfasten anything. 

(There is a loud report from below) 



AT ANCHOR 129 

Captain Jones. — By heaven, what was 
that? (He rushes below.) 

David. — Oh, what can be the matter! 

Nancy. — Oh! Oh! I wish we were on land. 
(She runs to the side of the ship.) Oh, David! 
David! Come here! Look, there is smoke 
coming from that porthole ! See, we are on fire ! 

David. — Oh, what shall we do! Come, we 
had best go downstairs. 

(They start to go down, when up comes Mr. 
Higginson and the Captain, dragging John 
after them) 

Nancy. — Oh, are we — are we — on fire? 

The Captain. — No! no! children, be still! 
(To John) Now, young man, here shalt thou 
stay, lashed to the mast. (To David and 
Nancy) Do not either of you lay hands 
upon him, till I release him. (He ties John 
to the mast.) That will teach thee to behave. 

(He goes off) 

Mr. Higginson. — I am grieved, John, that 
thou shouldst have proved so disobedient. I am 
sorry that the captain has tied thee up; but I 
can do naught to release thee, for aboard ship 
we are all under his orders. Remember that, 
children! During the whole voyage, we must 
obey the captain. 



130 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

(He goes away) 

Nancy. — Oh, John, what happened? Where 
did the smoke come from? 

David. — We thought the ship afire. 

John (blinking to keep back the tears) . — Oh, 
nothing. I only fired an old gun to see if it was 
loaded, and it was. 

David. — That was the great noise that we 
heard. 

Nancy. — Oh, never mind. Here! I have a 
sweetmeat. (She puts her hand into her pocket.) 
Open thy mouth! 

John. — Nay, thou wilt want it thyself. 

Nancy. — Oh, I have others, but I am saving 
them. For thou knowest we can have naught 
of sweetmeats in this Virginia to which we are 
voyaging! But there, open thy mouth! (She 
puts in the sweetmeat.) I judge that the captain 
will come back shortly. 

John. — Oh, I don't mind. I can make believe 
that I am a prisoner aboard the Spanish Armada. 

David. — You shall be the prisoner and we 
will be the Spaniards. Oh, Nancy, that will be 
a fine game! 

(They proceed to play it) 



A NARROW ESCAPE 

A STORY OF JOHN SMITH 
AND POCAHONTAS 

CHARACTERS 

John Smith captain of the party 

William White | , a .., 

-^ _ men under bmith 

Daniel Pendegrass ] 

Powhatan chief of the Indians 

Pocahontas daughter of Powhatan 

Ananaissait a young brave, in love 

with Pocahontas 

Mawhawa a medicine man 

SCENE 

The white men are standing around a fire, over 
which rabbits are roasting, in a small glade in 
the forest. They have been searching all day 
for a passage to the Pacific Ocean. Night 
is falling. 

White (stirring the fire) . — A long, arduous 
day, and naught accomplished. 

Smith. — Our accomplishment is not great, 
yet neither is it little — and it amounts to this : 
that having gone over the land once, we need 



132 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

not go over it again. So cheer thee up, my 
gloomy knave. Here's roasted rabbit to spare. 
Thou wert safe down by the James. Thou 
wouldst be safe and — hungry anywhere here. 
An empty stomach goes not willingly to bed. 

Pendegrass. — Noble tales, captain! It 
pleases you to laugh, yet our stomachs may ache 
to be filled to-morrow. 

Smith. — Gentlemen, this is our proper busi- 
ness. A way to the Pacific must be found. 
You know the king is anxious, and the com- 
pany are even more so. I came not here for my 
pleasure, but to do the bidding of others. (He 
goes to the fire and turns over the rabbits that are 
roasting there.) 

Pendegrass. — A fool's errand and worse! 
I tell you I will have no more of it. 

(At this moment a party of Indians dart from 
the woods, seize and bind the Englishmen, 
before they can lift a hand) 

Smith. — Oh, great red father, wherefore do 
you injure your brother? 

Powhatan. — Lift not thy voice! Powhatan 
leaves free thy tongue to answer, not to question. 
Many days have you roamed in the forests. Did 
Powhatan tell you to do so? Many beasts and 
birds have you slain — beasts and birds that 
belonged to Powhatan. Long has the father 



A NARROW ESCAPE 133 

watched you and great has grown his displeasure. 
Now, answer — why came you hither? 

Smith. — Great Father, long have we roamed 
and wandered in search of a mighty water — a 
mighty rolling water with swift tides and cur- 
rents. But our search has been in vain and we 
are broken with grief. Have your brothers in 
aught offended you? 

Powhatan. — My brother has two tongues. 
With one, he speaks the things that are not. 
Therefore, shall he die! He has deceived my 
people. 

Smith. — Father, it shall be as you say. But, 
before I die, I pray thee, put thy hand into my 
pocket and give me what thou shalt find 
there. 

Powhatan. — What has my brother in his 
pocket? 

Smith. — Powhatan, my pocket holds a spirit 
bound in metal. This spirit has the power of 
twinkling and of turning to the north. Bring it 
forth and you shall see it. 

(Powhatan consults with the rest of the 
Indians) 

Powhatan. — We shall loose one hand and 
you shall bring it forth yourself. (They loose 
one hand and then quickly stand off. Smith 
brings out his pocket-compass.) 



134 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Smith. — See, I will leave it so. Draw near. 
It cannot hurt you. (They come nearer. 
Finally one Indian moves it with his finger.) 

Ananaissait. — See, it moves ! It is alive. 

Mawhawa. — It is accursed, put it away. 

Powhatan. — Oh, wise man, how can it harm 
us? 

Mawhawa. — It is a thing of evil. Thy flesh 
shall fall from thy bones. Thy bones shall rot 
in turn. Return it. 

Powhatan. — Brother, take back this thing 
of evil. (Smith puts it back in his pocket.) 

Smith. — Nay, Father Powhatan, it is a spirit 
of great good. Without the sun or the moon, 
or without the stars, this will guide me when I 
have lost my way and lead me to my wigwam. 

Powhatan. — The wise man of our tribe has 
spoken. It is a thing of evil. Return it to its 
hiding-place. 

(They rebind Smith and lead him to the center of 
the stage. Then the Indians begin to dance 
around him. During the dance, a group of 
girls and women come from the forest to look 
on. When the dance is finished, Mawhawa 
places the stone on which Smith's head is to 
lie, and brings forth an axe) 

Mawhawa. — Oh, great and powerful spirits, 
are we thy children, gathered here to appease 



A NARROW ESCAPE 135 

thee? Thy sacred laws have been broken and 
he must die. 

{The other Indians sit in a circle. Rocking back 
and forth they take up the chant, "He who 
breaks them must die") 

Mawhawa. — In the forest the bear has been 
slain and the beaver. No honor has been shown 
to their bones. On the ground they are left to 
whiten. Oh, great and powerful Spirit, thy 
sacred laws have been broken. He who breaks 
them must die. 

Other Indians. — He who breaks them must 
die. 

Mawhawa. — It shall be done as it is spoken. 

{Mawhawa grasps Smith by his hair, pulls him 
onto his knees, and then jerks his head onto 
the stone) 

Other Indians. — Let it be done as it is 
spoken. 

{Mawhawa lifts the axe, but Pocahontas 
rushes forward) 

Pocahontas. — Not so! I claim this man! 
Oh, Great Good Spirit, hear me! His sins shall 
be upon me! For me the toil and the suffering, 
for me the expiation! 



136 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Ananaissait. — Little maiden, oh, Bright- 
Eyed-One! Thy tongue speaks not thy heart. 
He is not of our people. He must die. Seek 
not to stop it! 

Pocahontas. — He shall not die! Arise and 
go forth. (Turning to Ananaissait) Since the 
beginning has this been the custom of my 
people to take upon themselves the sins of any 
captive. Seek not to alter his customs lest the 
Great Father be displeased and show you his 
displeasure. (To John Smith, giving back his 
gun) Go forth, white brother, in peace. 

Smith. — Great Father, I thank thee. And 
thou, oh, noble maiden, hast the gratitude of me 
and of my people. To the Great Father shall 
I, too, say, "May my sins be light upon thee." 
Now I go; but, forever, shall I remember thy 
kindness. 



STORMY TIMES 

A STORY OF THE REBELLION IN EARLY 
NEW YORK 

In April, 1689, the news came to New York that 
King James had fled to France, and that William of 
Orange, with large forces, had arrived in England, and 
had seized the throne. A certain Captain Leister stirred 
up the baser part of the inhabitants to seize the fort and 
to take the power from the legal governor and from the 
council. He said that, since King James had fled, all 
government had fallen in the colony. Leister and his 
men armed themselves and seized the governor, while 
he was in council in the City Hall. Leister held the 
fort and kept the governor imprisoned during two years. 
At the end of this time, an armed man-of-war arrived 
from England and forced Leister to surrender. 



CHARACTERS 

Roger Smith , ,-, , 7 . , 

^ ^ I owners of the outlying farms 

Peter Van Clief \ , . 

or bouwenes 
Jacob de Viever 

Men under Leister 

Townspeople and Villagers 

A Herald and a Messenger 



138 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

SCENE 

On the road to the fort. 
(Enter Van Clief and Smith) 

Roger Smith. — So, friend, you, too, pay 
tribute ! 

Peter Van Clief. — Yes, that villain in the 
fort yonder bleeds me to death. Yesterday 
there came two of his men to me with a demand 
for wine. At the point of the bayonet, I had to 
deliver the key of my wine cellar. In they 
went and set themselves to drink. Presently, 
four more came along and what the others did 
not drink up, they carried off. How much 
longer must we endure this thing? They bade 
me bring money to them, to-day. 

Smith. — Heaven alone knows! This morn- 
ing, I, too, was summoned to appear with the 
sum of five pounds sterling. I have it here, 
though I can ill afford it. They have robbed 
me like this for two years. 

Van Clief. — What commerce have we now? 
Who will be foolish enough now to come into 
this harbor to trade, when he knows that his 
goods will be seized and no payment will be 
given him — unless it be a few cannon balls 
from the fort. I shall go and start a new home, 
elsewhere. 



STORMY TIMES 139 

Smith. — Look! Yonder comes Jacob de 
Viever, leading his cow. Evidently the tyrants 
have a taste for fresh beef. (Jacob de Viever 
comes in with his cow.) Good-day, neighbor! 
Do you, also, take your way to the fort? 

De Viever. — Yes! Who does not, sooner or 
later? This cow is the last of my live stock. I 
am a ruined man by now. 

Van Clief. — See! Here come some of his 
hirelings. Eighteen pence they draw a day for 
laughing and jeering and swearing at us. (The 
men pass, singing a song.) 

First Man. — Into the fort with you — get 
in, get in! 

Second Man. — Why do you stand staring? 
Must I run you in, on my bayonet? 

Third Man. — The lieutenant-governor will 
stand no delay, hurry along! 

Van Clief (after they have passed) . — Did 
you hear him, friends? The lieutenant-gover- 
nor! To call that barterer of skins, dealer in 
corn and peas, lieutenant-governor! But we 
must endure it till help arrives from England. 

Smith. — Relief is long in coming. Well, I 
will go in. I have work at home that awaits 
me. 

De Viever. — Aye, we do not better matters 
with words. I will go in with you. 

Smith. — Do you come also? 



140 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Van Clief. — No, I will wait a little longer. 
Why do you not wait also? Who can tell what 
may happen? Each day that villain sends to 
me for five pounds. He tells his men, "We 
will drain yonder old money-bags.' 7 Well, each 
day I come. Do I give him the money each 
day? Not I. I go in presently and I say, "I 
met three of your men outside of the fort. 
They have taken the money that I was to 
bring to you." Then there is a great to-do and 
much swearing. "Go!" roars his High Mighti- 
ness, "and bring me twenty pounds!" I go, 
but I do not return. Their heads are muddled 
with so much beer and wine. They soon forget. 

(While the men are talking, people are passing 
and repassing, coming and going from the 
fort) 

Smith. — Well, friend, such measures may do 
for you. I fain would guard my goods with my 
gun. Since I cannot, I must give them up. 
Ha! what is this? 

(A herald enters, calling, "Hark ye! Hark ye!" 
People stop and assemble to listen) 

Herald. — Hark ye! By order of the lieu- 
tenant-governor, Jacob Leister and the com- 
mittee of safety! All those who will not come 
into the fort and sign their hands, so as thereby 



STORMY TIMES 141 

to own our power to be lawful, shall be deemed 
and esteemed by us as enemies to his Majesty 
and the country and shall be treated accord- 
ingly! (Herald goes off crying, "Hark ye! Hark 
yer) 

Van Clief. — Well, neighbors, what think 
you of that? 

First Townsman. — He doth not represent 
their Majesties! We will not sign! Jacob 
Leister is not governor. 

Van Clief. — Then will he take the excuse 
to seize our bouweries! 

Smith. — Then will we take up arms! What 
say you, men? 

The People. — Yes, let us arm! Let us 
arm! We can endure no more. 

Van Clief. — No! No! You must not! 
Where are your cannon? Where is your powder? 
From behind yon turrets, they will pick you off 
like flies. You must submit, till aid comes! 

(There is the sound of firing) 

The People. — There, there, they are firing 
from the fort. Hark! Neighbors, let us arm! 
Yes, war is come! We will arm! We will 
drive them out! 

Smith. — Good people, listen. What our 
neighbor Van Clief has said is true. We have 
no cannon and, very little powder and few bullets. 



142 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

We cannot hope to take the fort. We have no 
chance to drive them out. It is some drunken 
ruffian who has fired the cannon. Let us go 
peacefully to our homes. These men will not 
dare to follow us there, or to fight us in the open. 

Van Clief. — Oh, my good neighbor, yes, 
let us go home. Let us protect our farms, let 
us not endanger our good rich land. 

First Townsman. — Of what use is our land? 
Where can we find a market for our goods, so 
long as that villain holds the fort? Drive him 
out, I say! Drive him out! 

The People. — Yes, drive him out! Down 
with all tyrants! 

(Enter a man running) 

Man. — Good news! Good news! The 
King's troops have arrived from England! The 
fort is taken! The villains are in chains and 
all is well! 

The People. — Hurrah! Hurrah! 



THE FIRST WINTER 

A STORY OF HOW ELDER BREWSTER AND 
MILES STANDISH MINISTERED TO THE 
PILGRIMS IN SICKNESS AND IN HARD- 
SHIP 

CHARACTERS 

Miles Standish . .military captain of the Ply- 
mouth Colony 

Mr. Brewster an elder 

Priscilla a young girl who has been ill 

The Babies . . Oceanors Hopkins and Peregrine 
White, born since the coming to America 



SCENE 

The interior of one of the newly built cottages. 
Miles Standish and Elder Brewster are engaged 
in conversation. The two babies lie in a cradle 
in the corner. 

Captain Standish. — Elder Brewster, will 
you go in and speak with the Governor? He 
wishes to consult with you about a stockade to 
be built against the Indians. Humor him all 
you can. Remember, he is a very sick man. 
Tell him naught of our deaths and sufferings. 



144 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Elder Brewster. — Poor man, poor man! 
I will go and try to comfort him. 

(He goes out) 
Captain Standish. — Alas! All our women 
sick, so I must ply the needle! (He begins to 
sew. One of the babies wakes up and begins to 
cry. Standish goes over to it and gently rocks the 
cradle. Finally he has to take up the baby.) 
Hush thee! Hush thee! Now would that I 
had a gentle voice and could sing to thee a 
lull-a-by! (The baby continues to cry.) Oh, 
gently, gently! Hush! Hush! What? What? 
Must have a song? Well, then, thou shalt. 

(Sings) 
Then right ho! for England! 
And ho! for St. George! 
Hum, dum, de-di-diddle, 
Hum-dum-de-di-di , 
We'll challenge the enemy — 
Di-di-di-di-diddle — * 

(Enter Priscilla) 

Priscilla. — Why, Captain Standish! 

Captain Standish. — Here! Here! Take 
the baby! Rather would I fight fifty Indians 
than quiet one mewling infant! 

Priscilla. — Poor little baby ! He is hungry, 
captain ! 



THE FIRST WINTER 145 

Captain Standish. — Aye — and no milk to 

be had! 

Priscilla. — If his mother mend not shortly, 
what is to be done? 

Captain Standish. — God knows! 

Priscilla. — Oh, poor, poor little baby! 
Would you had never been born! 

(The baby has stopped crying as Priscilla 
rocks it gently) 

Captain Standish. — Nay, Priscilla! Our 
troubles will mend with the spring. But thou 
art too weak to be about, my girl! Go lie you 
down again! 

Priscilla. — Nay, I cannot. I heard the 
baby crying. I had to come to it. . 

(Enter Elder Brewster) 

Elder Brewster. — Why, Priscilla, I am 
glad to see thee up! Art thou feeling better? 

Priscilla. — I think that I feel much better, 
thank you, Elder Brewster. 

Captain Standish. — Did you give any com- 
fort to the Governor? 

Elder Brewster. — He asked me had the 
Indians been prowling about the place. He 
said he thought that he had heard them. 

Captain Standish. —You put him off, I hope, 
and answered him vaguely? 



146 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Elder Brewster. — Nay! He asked a 
point-blank question, and a lie was not to be 
thought of! 

Captain Standish. — A lie! a lie! Who talks 
of lying? You have told the truth in a very 
honest maner! It is well and good for you, but 
how will the matter affect him? He will lie 
there, with phantoms and with ghosts, seeing 
the colony massacred, hearing the Indians rush 
upon us, until he is in a high fever! 

Priscilla. — Nay, Captain Standish! Mr. 
Carver is a sensible man 

Captain Standish. — Aye, and a very sick 
one ! If he knew that there were but seven of us 
able to be about, do you think that the knowl- 
edge would help him? Yesterday, he called me 
to him. "How is it, captain," he asked, "that 
Mr. Bradford comes in no longer to see me? It 
is three days, since he has been here." Did I 
answer and say, "Mr. Bradford is sick unto 
death"? Nay! I put him off with excuses. 
A very wise way, Elder Brewster, and the sooner 
you learn it the better! 

Elder Brewster. — Nay, Captain Standish, 
I cannot think as you do, and there's an end to 
the matter! 

(They stand silent for a moment) 

Captain Standish. — Well, I must go now to 
release Mr. Whitney and replenish the fires. 



THE FIRST WINTER 147 

(He takes an armful of wood and goes out) 

Priscilla. — Truly, Elder Brewster, have the 
Indians been giving trouble? 

Elder Brewster. — Naught to speak of. 
We have but seen them afar off looking towards 
the colony. They are still in fear of us. They 
know not how our ranks have thinned out, for 
we bury our dead at night and level over the 
graves, so that the Indians cannot count the 
dead. 

Priscilla. — Then we shall never know where 
they lie, nor have any pretty customs, like 
wreathing the graves in the springtime, or like 
planting them with primroses and with violets? 

(She begins to cry) 

Elder Brewster. — My dear child, my dear 
child, think not of such things, I pray thee! 
We shall yet be happy in this new land, though 
now there is naught but affliction. Come, dry 
thy tears and be comforted, for remember — 
"The Lord loveth whom he chasteneth." 



VIRGINIA CHILDREN OF 
LONG AGO 

A STORY OF PLANTATION DAYS 

CHARACTERS 

Elizabeth Litchfield a little girl of ten 

Philip Litchfield a little boy of eleven 

Mistress Litchfield their mother 

Mammy an old negress, their nurse 

SCENE 

A sunny room in a large country house in a 
southern plantation. Elizabeth is spinning. 
Her mother is just leaving the room. 

Mistress Litchfield. — Now, Elizabeth, 
you may finish the rest by yourself. I must go 
to my baking. 

Elizabeth. — Must I spin all this? 

Mistress Litchfield. — Yes, all. (Eliza- 
beth drops a courtesy, as her mother goes out.) 

Elizabeth. — Oh, I am tired — turning and 
turning this old wheel. I shall not turn it 
again! No never! 

(Enter Philip) 

Philip. — Oh, ho! Pouting! What's the 
matter? 



VIRGINIA CHILDREN OF LONG AGO 149 

Elizabeth. — You know very well! 

Philip (sits down and begins to imitate his 
sister's sullen looks and reluctant movements). — 
Thou art a pretty picture. (In a piping voice) 
I shall not do another bit! No I shall not! 

Eliazbeth. — Stop thy plagueing! Thou 
knowest that I hate the task! 

Philip. — Then come away and leave it. 

Elizabeth. — Oh, if I only could! What is 
the use of my learning to spin? Mother has 
three women who do nothing else! There! I 
shall not wind another thread! 

Philip. — Then come with me. I am going 
fishing. 

Elizabeth (turning on him in anger). — I can't! 
I can't! Go out of this room at once! You do 
not belong here at this time of day. You are 
always teasing me when I am about my work! 
I would be finished, if you had not come in! 

Philip. — That is the way with all girls! 
You blame me instead of blaming yourself. 
You hate to be indoors, yet you are afraid to go 
out. Yes, you are afraid! You are a coward! 

Elizabeth. — You are a coward, to talk that 
way to a girl! 

Philip. — Well, it's so. I want you to come 
fishing with me and you stay, simply because 
you are afraid that mother will put you in the 
stocks for an hour or two! 



150 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

Elizabeth. — I am not afraid! 

Philip. — Then come with me! 

Elizabeth. — No, I won't, Philip Litch- 
field! Not if the whole day were mine, 
would I go with a boy who calls his sister a 
coward ! 

Philip. — Well, you are one, so there! 

(Enter Mrs. Litchfield) 

Mistress Litchfield. — Children! Children! 
What is all this? I could hear you in the 
kitchen. What, Elizabeth! No work done 
since I left! And you, Philip, what is this that 
I hear about fishing and the stocks? 

(The children hang their heads) 

Mistress Litchfield (goes to the door and 
calls, "Mammy! Mammy!") 

(Enter Mammy) 

Mammy. — You done calls me? 

Mistress Litchfield. — Yes, mammy. Bring 
me in the stocks and place them over there. 

Mammy. — I don't see no reason for bringin' 
them, but I will. (Goes out.) 

Mistress Litchfield. — You both need 
punishment. That I can plainly see. I am 
ashamed of my son and of my daughter. 



VIRGINIA CHILDREN OF LONG AGO 151 

(Mammy brings in the stocks, and places them) 

Mammy. — Here are the stocks. 

Mistress Litchfield. — Philip, you may sit 
in the stocks for the next hour. 

Philip. — But, mother ■ 

Mistress Litchfield. — No words, if you 
please. (She puts Philip in the stocks.) You, 
Elizabeth, will finish your spinning with 
despatch! It grieves me to see that my children 
do not know the necessity of labor in a country 
such as ours. Philip, is not this thy hour for 
studying Latin? 

Philip. — Yes, mother. 

Mistress Litchfield. — Very well. You 
may go without your supper to-night and devote 
that time to your studies. 

Elizabeth. — Dear mother, I beg you — I, 
too, am to blame. 

Mistress Litchfield. — Of that I am aware. 
Thy punishment will be meted out to thee. 
Mammy, you will see that Elizabeth has no 
sweetmeats given her to-day. 

Mammy (weeping): — It breaks my heart to 
see these here children punished! 

Mistress Litchfield. — Philip, when you 
have sat one hour in the stocks I shall come for 
you. Then you, Elizabeth, will take his place. 
In the future, let us hope that there will be 



152 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

no necessity for these punishments. Come, 
mammy! I cannot have any condoling with 
the culprits! In an hour, I shall be back. 

(Mistress Littlefield and Mammy go out. For a 
little while, Elizabeth spins. Then she looks up 
and begins to laugh) 

Elizabeth. — Are you very comfortable, 
Philip? 

(Philip makes no answer) 

Elizabeth. — You know that the constant 
use of the stocks will give you an elegant walk, 
so just think how improved you will be after 
an hour! 

Philip. — Now, Elizabeth, you are doing the 
teasing. 

(Enter Mammy) 

Mammy. — Ho! Ho! Marse Philip, you do 
looks funny wif your toes turned out! Ho! 
Ho! 

Philip. — Oh, stop, mammy. I'm tired of 
sitting in these crazy things! 

Mammy. — Well, I specks you are and I've 
brought something for you. 

Both Children. — Oh, mammy, what is it? 

Mammy. — Something nice. 

Philip. — To eat? 

Elizabeth. — Oh, mammy, what is it? 



VIRGINIA CHILDREN OF LONG AGO 153 

Mammy. — Well, here it is, a slice of hot, 
corn bread, for each of you. 

Elizabeth. — Oh, good! 

Philip. — Mammy! You're an old duck. 

Elizabeth. — I'm so glad that it is not a 
sweetmeat, for then I couldn't eat it! 

(Mistress Litchfield comes in) 

Mistress Litchfield. — There speaks my 
true little daughter. Children, your Uncle Philip 
is downstairs. He has come to take you riding. 
So for this one time, you are excused. (She 
takes Philip out the stocks.) Run off now and 
get dressed. 

The Children. — Oh! Goody! Goody! 
Hurrah for Uncle Philip! Come, hurry, 
mammy, and help us dress! Thank you, 
mother! 

(Elizabeth courtesies to her mother. Philip 
bends over her hand and kisses it) 

Mistress Litchfield. — Now you are my 
good kind children once more. I pray that you 
may continue so. 



SATUBDAY NIGHT IN NEW 
ENGLAND 

A STORY OF COLONIAL MANNERS AND 
CUSTOMS 

CHARACTERS 



Goodman Todd 
Goodwife Todd 
Isaac, a boy of six 
Perseverance, a girl of ten 
Bartholomew, a boy of eight 



colonists 

. . their children 



SCENE 

The living-room of Goodman Todd's house. 
The children are talking. Candles are burning. 

Perseverance. — There! My petticoat is 
mended. Dear! Dear! How homely is linsey 
woolsey! Didst thou notice, Bartholomew, how 
fine and costly was the petticoat worn, last 
Sabbath day, by Mistress Frances Underberry? 

Bartholomew. — Nay, I did not. And thou 
knowest it is a sin to envy thy neighbor's be- 
longings ! 

Perseverance. — I did not envy, I but 
admired. Come, let us play at being at church. 



SATURDAY NIGHT IN NEW ENGLAND 155 

Bartholomew. — I think that would be 
wicked ! 

Isaac. — Oh, sister, let us play! 

Perseverance. — Yes, we shall play. Thou 
mayst be an elder, Bartholomew. Isaac will be 
the congregation and I will be a constable, and 
wake you with my staff if you go to sleep. 
Now, Bartholomew, be very straight and solemn. 
I will march up and down. 

(Isaac pretends to go to sleep. Perseverance taps 
him with her stick. Isaac gives forth a peal 
of laughter) 

Perseverance (after laughing with him). — 
No, you must not laugh. You must be very 
embarrassed and downcast. 

(Enter Goodwife Todd) 

Good wife Todd. — Come, children, come! 
There is work to be done. Do you forget that 
to-morrow is the Sabbath? 

Perseverance. — Nay, mother, we were 
playing at going to church. Bartholomew was 
an elder. Isaac was the congregation and went 
to sleep. 

Goodwife Todd. — Oh, shame! For shame! 
A whole congregation asleep ! But, come, there 
is work to be done. Here, Perseverance, are thy 
father's brass shoe-buckles. Polish them well. 



156 HISTORICAL PLAYS OF COLONIAL DAYS 

You, Bartholomew, will turn the spit. Come, 
Isaac, you must go to bed. It is growing late. 

(Goodwife Todd leads Isaac from the room) 

Perseverance. — Why is father out so late? 

Bartholomew. — He is at a meeting of the 
elders. I heard him tell mother, this morning, 
that Goody Whitehouse was to have a public 
talking to to-morrow at church because at her 
home she scoldeth and scoldeth. 

Perseverance. — Oh! how terrible! How 
dreadful her boy Samuel will feel! But see my 
buckles. How bright they are! Yet dost thou 
see that one is not so bright as the other? 

Bartholomew. — Let me try to brighten it. 
There! Oh, how it shines! 

(Enter their father) 

Goodman Todd. — What, admiring my 
buckles! Yes, to be sure, they do shine. 

(The mother comes down stairs) 

Goodwife Todd. — Thou art late, Jacob! 

Goodman Todd. — Yes. We had a long dis- 
cussion. But see my buckles, wife? Are they 
not like gold? Have a care, children! The 
good Governor will fine me for adorning myself 
above my station. But, hark! There is the 
watchman's bell! 



SATURDAY NIGHT IN NEW ENGLAND 157 

{They listen. The ding-dong can be heard 
as the watchman passes their door) 

Now all lights must be put out. Is everything 
in readiness for the morrow, wife? 

Goodwife Todd. — And the children — yes, 
everything. 

Goodman Todd. — Then all lights out. 

Goodwife Todd. — I must first take this 
roast and put it away. There! Now, I am 
ready. 

Perseverance. — Father, may I light the 
traveller's candle? 

Goodman Todd. — Yes, daughter. 

(Perseverance lights a candle and places it in 
the window) 

Perseverance. — I will place it in the window 
to light the traveller on his way. 

Goodwife Todd. — Now, Bartholomew, snuff 
the other candles. (They have two candles burn- 
ing. Isaac snuffs them.) 

Goodman Todd. — Come! A short prayer 
and then to bed . 

(All, with folded hands, listen to the prayer) 

Oh, Lord, God — our Father, watch over us and 
protect us this night. 
The Others. — Amen. 



DEC (8 19?2 



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